Archive of Our Own

Somehow, he’s managed to be hooked in.

He hadn’t expected Ignis’ jaw to immediately loosen as their eyes had met. He hadn’t expected the slow, upward curl to the corners of Ignis’ mouth, or the warm squint crinkling the edges of Ignis’ eyes. He hadn’t expected to hear ‘Prompto,’ murmured in a low, flame-hot rumble, or to see the spark of quiet pleasure flickering in Ignis’ gaze.

In all honesty, having someone as impressive and well-put-together as Ignis look twice in his direction isn’t exactly something that Prompto’s used to.

A mild thrill suddenly bubbles up in his stomach without so much as any warning.

‘Hey, Iggy,’ he greets, lips pulling into a toothy grin. ‘You all alone here?’

‘Are you offering to change that?’ Ignis raises a thin eyebrow over the polished rims of his glasses, pointed and purposeful.

Prompto beams at the invitation, brimming with good cheer. Ignis doesn’t even need to say another word.

In hindsight, it isn’t actually that much of a surprise to have accidentally stumbled across Ignis here. The café’s relatively quiet, tucked into a wide and well-lit alleyway snugly winding along the belly of Insomnia’s smaller streets, as serene and clean and well-dressed inside and out as Ignis himself always tends to be. Sunlight trickles in gold streamlets through the sleek window glass at Ignis’ side, crisp and bright and welcoming. All in all, a calm but refreshing contrast from the lively stir and busy flurry of the surrounding city roads: exactly the kind of place where anyone would feel relaxed enough to sit alone in silence to savor a moment of peace.

‘… I must say, I’m surprised to see you all by yourself as well,’ says Ignis smoothly, pocketing away the notebook that he’d just been reading through. ‘I’d heard from Noct that the two of you were to spend the day at leisure in the city center today.’

‘Gladio grabbed him on our way out,’ Prompto all but wails, plonking himself down all loose-limbed and messy into the seat across from Ignis. ‘Said something about extra training to make up for a missed session last week. And, like, Noct did try to complain but Gladio straight-up just flung him over his shoulder and walked away—’

He schools his own features to try to imitate a look of firm, unbothered confidence, and enthusiastically swings an imaginary bulk right onto his own shoulder in shameless demonstration.

Ignis’ lips unexpectedly quirk little by little into a more prominent smile, soft and amused; a trace of mellow delight prickles in Prompto’s chest at the sight. By some inexplicable miracle of the universe, Ignis actually seems to be finding him funny.

Hell, however weird it may be for Prompto to think it, given that the two of them don’t particularly talk to each other all that much, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Ignis can give off such a likeable vibe sometimes. Just like right now.

‘So you were left on your own.’

‘So I was left on my own,’ Prompto repeats in an affirmative, before giving a quick wink. ‘Not anymore, though.’

‘Well, I’d always be glad for the company.’ Ignis puts up a slender hand; there’s a subtle, delicate flick to his wrist when he waves the nearest waitress over. ‘No sense in savoring my iced Ebony alone.’

Prompto huffs out a light, breathy laugh at that. ‘Iced Ebony, huh? How totally you.’

At this rate, he suspects that enjoying the afternoon out may well turn out to be just fine even when things hadn’t originally gone according to plan, and even without Noctis around, after all. Chill and entertaining and simple.

Although maybe it’s just a bit unusual to see Ignis’ attention intently fixed on some distant point beyond the window glass, by the time Prompto’s sounded off his indulgent order of iced chocolate to the waitress and swiveled back.

‘Something interesting out there?’ Prompto chirps, bright and easygoing.

‘… I’m … not sure.’ There’s a weird, unexpected tilt to Ignis’ voice, as if he’s just been nudged off-balance. Ignis clears his throat, then, and twists one side of his mouth. ‘I thought I saw something, but I may have imagined it. My apologies.’

‘Nothing to apologize for, dude,’ says Prompto in reassurance, idly picking at a stray thread unraveling from the stitching of his wristband. ‘So, what were you doing here? Seriously, I was literally just thirsty and this place was right in front of me so I just walked in here at random, like, for real! Totally wasn’t expecting to bump into you today.’

At first, the only reply Prompto gets is a long, stretched pause.

Tension leaks into the corners of Ignis’ face, peppered with something that’s almost giving off an unsettled vibe. And honestly, seeing it, Prompto can’t exactly imagine why he’d look that way.

Ignis releases a tiny, faint cough and moves to adjust his glasses, prodding them upward with soft-curved knuckles even when they aren’t askew to start with.

‘Well … truth be told, I just enjoy the iced Ebony here,’ he replies in a small voice, sounding almost self-conscious, bordering on modestly embarrassed. ‘There’s no deeper reason than that, really.’

It’s a pretty unusual thing to say, seeing as there hadn’t needed to be a deeper reason – and at the end of the day, Ignis definitely shouldn’t ever be obligated to chain himself to self-restraint and discipline at every hour of his life, or feel ashamed of veering away from it once in a while, in Prompto’s opinion.

But the hesitation and sensitivity in Ignis’ voice just now had been obvious enough, and if anything, Prompto knows better than to poke further into it.

‘That’s cool. Hope I didn’t interrupt work or anything, though. Seemed sorta like you were really absorbed in stuff when I got here?’

‘Work? No, nothing of the sort. Not to worry,’ Ignis answers kindly as he turns back to Prompto, patient and considerate. ‘I was just reading through a recipe I’d collected and put together last week. A trivial matter, I know. Nothing anyone would find exceptionally riveting.’

‘Nah.’ Prompto’s fingers move to interlace behind his own head, and he sags the bulk of his weight back into the mostly stiff cushioning of the booth. ‘You’re obviously invested in it. So I mean, it’s not trivial. No matter what other people might think.’

At that, the line of Ignis’ mouth slackens, and his eyes round out in unmistakable surprise.

Prompto swallows, then. Presses his teeth shut, gears grinding to motion in his brain. And he has to quickly wonder whether Ignis actually gets the chance to share parts of himself with anyone all that often, if he’s reacting as though it’s mostly unusual for his own hobbies and interests to resonate much with other people, or for them to actually be treated with any level of enthusiasm by someone else.

Because it’s not like Prompto’s made a habit of having enough proper conversations with Ignis to know if that’s the case, despite the two of them having met years ago. But in the end, he does think of them as pretty good acquaintances through Noctis, and even if they aren’t exactly fully fledged friends or anything like that yet, he’d still happily give Ignis his attention any day.

He can hardly help biting down on his cheek, just thinking about it.

But that train of thought’s soon cut short by the waitress coming to deliver his iced chocolate, and he doesn’t get much more time to mull it over.

‘… So, hey. What do you like about the iced Ebony here?’ Prompto pushes on casually, arching himself over to pull a little sip of his drink through his straw. ‘And what recipe were you reading through? C’mon, I haven’t seen you since like, two weeks ago at Noct’s. I’ve seriously gotta catch up.’

There’s a slow-burning warmth to the way Ignis’ eyes soften in reply. Quiet and grateful; more than appreciative.

As far as Prompto’s concerned, every minute of the four hours that they end up spending together in cozy conversation in that café ends up being totally worth it.

‘With Specs?’ Noctis curls his lips, furrows his brows. ‘Really?’

Prompto blinks, halted midway through opening a bag of chips.

‘What's wrong with Iggy?’

‘Nothing's wrong. It's just …’ A beat of silence hovers between them like Noctis is piecing his thoughts together, rolling them on the tip of his tongue. ‘I wouldn't have thought you'd have picked him to have a day out with, of all people. You guys ever actually gone anywhere alone before?'

‘No, but I think it was super-nice of him to want me to stick around after seeing that I was just sorta wandering by myself,’ Prompto insists a little defensively. ‘And I didn’t actually go out of my way to plan to meet him or anything. I literally ran into him by complete accident.’

Noctis lowers his lashes with some vague kind of intent, leaving his eyes heavy-lidded. ‘Uh-huh.’

That’s already enough to pluck at all of Prompto’s edgy nerves like they’re taut strings, to have Prompto squirming restlessly in his seat.

‘Uh-huh?’ he asks, gangling legs unrolling for him to sit up straighter on the couch. ‘What do you mean, uh-huh?’

An offhand shrug, and Noctis writhes a little in an obvious attempt to settle himself more comfortably where he’s squeezed next to Prompto, all lazy and somewhat catlike. ‘Guess I’m glad to see you guys getting along without me around, that’s all,’ he drawls, laid-back but meaningful. ‘So are you guys like, proper friends now, or what?’

‘The news seems to think so,’ Gladiolus cuts in from the kitchen entrance. He ambles over, treads sinking heavy on Noctis’ delicate carpeting; soon enough, the bag of chips is coolly extracted from Prompto’s fingers, and a newspaper’s tossed into his lap in its place. ‘Will you look at that. You’re famous.’

A picture of himself together with Ignis at the café from the previous day stares him square in the face.

The article’s small, unimportant-looking; a miniature box tucked into the lower corner of page five with a straightforward headline and a few measly lines of text perched above the photo. Crown Prince’s Best Friend Spotted In Café With Royal Advisor, it reads, lukewarm and harmless. Must be a slow news day, Prompto thinks; but some part of him can’t help but be the tiniest flattered – although a little guiltily – to have achieved even the most meager celebrity treatment. For whatever reason, it’s the first time he’s actually made it onto mainstream media as the main focus despite having been friends with Noctis for years now, and getting a bit of unexpected attention is weirdly kind of nice, once in a while.

Most of all, though … the picture itself is pretty great.

Not necessarily from a technical standpoint – even if Prompto hadn’t gradually built himself up to developing a photographer’s eye since his boyhood, it isn’t too hard to determine that the snapshot had been taken in a bit of a hurry, and maybe from somewhere rather hidden away. But even with the two of them being more or less shielded behind a sheet of window glass, there’s a soft radiance to the way he and Ignis are looking at each other that’s definitely showing through, a lively gentleness to their mood and air that’s shining brighter than the sun: Ignis’ tender smile easy and mellow, Prompto’s laughter brilliant and alive. Like there’s nothing but them, just Prompto and Ignis and a tight, cozy space that’s theirs and theirs alone.

‘Wow,’ Noctis comments with interest, sinking his chin flat on Prompto’s shoulder. ‘Look at you two, being all sunshine and rainbows.’

‘Yeah, how good does Iggy look? Kind of a nice change to see him not stressed out over work,’ Prompto says with a cheeky grin. ‘Damn, though, this is bizarre. Didn’t realize we were actually like … newsworthy material, or whatever.’

‘Nah, I don’t think that’s strange. You’ve both literally been standing next to me in a lot of the news reports I’m in. Makes sense to me that people out there would gradually start to recognize you guys, even if it’s just in association with me.’ Noctis chews idly on his lip in thought. ‘So how’s it feel, being a star?’

‘You mean a blip on the radar? Man, hell would freeze over before I’d ever manage to be the main topic of as many news reports as you’ve been.’ And then, by some lucky coincidence, the vibrant clink of a metal key turns in Noctis’ apartment door lock, before the door itself swings open and Ignis smoothly sweeps in; seeing him, Prompto instantly lights up. ‘Hey, Iggy. Check this out, buddy. Fifteen minutes of fame.’

A blink of surprise, but Ignis ambles over anyway, his expression strangely guarded. And as soon as he’s bowed himself over Prompto’s shoulder to be able to see the newspaper article, the wary look on his face intensifies; he frowns, the lines around his mouth deepening, the tautness at his jaw hardening even more.

Which is maybe an unusual reaction, but Prompto doesn’t really think twice about it, twisting to peer sideways at Noctis. ‘Hey, I kinda don’t really read the paper or anything so I think I’ve already tossed the one at home. Mind if I cut this out and take it with me? I mean, it’s pretty cute.’ He flicks his gaze upward to Ignis again, brimming with easygoing humor. ‘Looks almost like we’re out on a date or something.’

Ignis doesn’t give any answer to that. Although that’s probably because his next inhale’s gotten caught on something midway and turned into a sudden spluttering cough.

‘… Yeah, it’s fine, dude. Go nuts,’ Noctis answers tonelessly, flapping a single hand with bland indifference.

Prompto trills with upbeat cheer, and springs up from the couch to hunt down some scissors in Noctis’ room – he can hardly help but flash Ignis a brilliant smile on the way, and he isn’t too sure whether or not he’s imagining the pink-stained flush that creeps up Ignis’ throat in reply, but it’s kind of giving him the warm fuzzies to think about, either way.

‘Did you think it was odd?’

The murmur’s soft amid their crunching footsteps on the concrete pavement; Prompto throws a sidelong look over at Ignis and blinks for a moment, puzzled. ‘Think what was odd?’

‘That the two of us were picked up by the news, despite not having attracted that much public attention prior.’ Ignis rounds a keen look back at Prompto, tongue casually swiping over bright, hard teeth, before he tips his head briefly in the direction of a coffee cart set up across the street. ‘Perhaps I’ll quickly fetch myself a coffee before I head home. Would you like to join me, or would you rather be on your way?’

‘Aww, I’ll come with, Iggy.’ Prompto twinkles at him without a second thought, delighted by the welcoming invitation. ‘Might get a hot chocolate while I’m at it.’

‘Excellent. It’ll be my treat.’ With that, Ignis edges closer and splays a warm hand flat over the dip of Prompto’s lower back in a guiding manner; but he seems to think better of it after a moment, inching in a little more snugly to slide his hand further across, and curling long fingers over Prompto’s waist instead.

There’s a comfortable ease to the way Ignis’ arm is now wrapped around him, fingertips settled along the faint curve of his hipbone; the next thing he knows, Ignis is ushering him in tight so as to swerve them both out of the way of the busy flow of people strolling down the footpath. They’re still pressed pretty securely together as they cross the street, and for whatever reason, Prompto can barely stop himself from basking in the unusual coziness of it – a kind of novel sensation, when Ignis is normally a little more detached and self-contained as far as physical gestures go.

It’s only when Ignis has given his order to the vendor and fished his wallet out of the depths of his pocket that he even lets go of Prompto at all, prying open more of the original distance and separation between them. Their steady contact and intermingling body heat doesn’t really linger, then, for as long as Prompto probably would’ve liked; strangely enough, he’s already kind of missing it, more or less as soon as it’s gone.

The look etched into Ignis’ face when he turns to hand Prompto his hot chocolate is still a little hazy and lost in thought, and Prompto can only purse his lips curiously at the sight of it.

‘… Are you worried?’

For a moment, Ignis’ only answer is a subtle pale flash of teeth biting down at one corner of his bottom lip. But after some time, the tension at his throat and jaw seems to loosen bit by bit; he shakes his head, quiet and determined and calm.

‘I thought I saw something back at the café, but … then again, this is the only time it’s happened. Perhaps I shouldn’t overthink things.’ A long, full-chested sigh spills from his mouth, and heaves his shoulders. ‘I must confess I do have a terrible habit of that, from time to time.’

‘Noct is probably alive because of how much you worry, you know,’ Prompto points out with emphasis, bumping the upper rim of his thick paper cup against Ignis’ in a light-hearted toast, before raising it to his own lips for a little slurp. ‘I can barely wake him up when he falls asleep during our movie nights, I don’t know how you manage to do it with flying colors every morning.’

The edges of Ignis’ lips curve, then, into a slight but reassuring half-smile that Prompto can almost feel all the way down into the tips of his own toes. ‘You do learn a trick or two over time.’

The somewhat sunnier mood from Ignis is a relief, and overall infectious; just like that, Prompto’s already beaming at him before he can stop himself.

‘… Anyway, it’s not like we can help getting a bit of public attention when we’re directly associated with His Royal Highness and all. Guess it was bound to happen sooner or later,’ Prompto steps in, then, feeling unexpectedly bold, and slides a casual arm around Ignis’ waist the way Ignis had done with him before. Ignis’ breath stumbles in obvious surprise, at first – a pretty interesting reaction, all in all – but after a moment’s pause, he tilts back a little to settle comfortably into the touch, which cheers Prompto up instantly; with that, Prompto nudges Ignis gently forward to steer them both away. ‘Let’s just say it’s Noct’s fault and call it a day, yeah? C’mon. Let’s go.’

Ignis’ barely-there smile blooms a little wider at that, warm and charming, and all Prompto can think about is how effortlessly handsome it really, honestly looks on him.

The city sprawls vibrantly around them, awake and lively and stirring, and the two of them don’t let go of each other on their shared trip toward their separate homes until they actually reach the point where they have to part ways.

Hey, you coming in for Crownsguard training this afternoon? Think you should drop by Specs’ office on the way. He’s sorta been freaking out all morning.

A kind of baffling text message that Prompto doesn’t really know how to absorb this early in the day, especially when he’s still so bedraggled with the heavy, foggy after-traces of sleep; he has to squint at his phone screen for a whole minute, half-lidded eyes wilted and droopy, before he can so much as even muster enough energy to type out a reply.

About what?

And then, it suddenly sinks in that he’s being told to go see Ignis, for some reason – which Noctis has never actually asked him specifically, of all people, to do before.

He’s yanked quickly out of the last hazy wisps of drowsiness, jolting fully awake.

And, like … he quickly adds, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, why are you asking me?

Barely a few seconds have passed by before his phone chimes again, bringing Noctis’ answer with it: Well, uh. If you don’t already know what I’m talking about, then it’s probably better if you go see for yourself.

Forget waiting until the afternoon; it’s vague and ominous enough to have Prompto out of bed, fully dressed, and sprinting out the door within minutes.

Ignis is perched back and half-seated against the rim of his work desk when Prompto bursts into his office at the Citadel, and there’s an obvious tension stiffening his posture, as if he’s on edge – can of Ebony clutched in one hand, a folded-back tabloid newspaper gripped in the other, one polished shoe tapping with clear restlessness against the sleek tiled floor. Sharp green eyes widen on Prompto’s entry, a show of brief surprise that doesn’t actually last long; because Ignis then sweeps over to him pretty much straight away, holding out the newspaper without a single word.

Prompto levels him with a stunned stare, blinks idly for a moment. Reaches out to slowly, slowly take the newspaper from Ignis’ grasp, before cautiously dipping his eyes down to the printed page.

Everything’s a little bigger. A bigger headline; a bigger article taking up more space in the lower corner of page four; a set of three cropped photos put together side-by-side, making an overall bigger visual picture. They’re laid out in sequence – first, a diagonal view of Ignis with his arm snaked around Prompto’s waist as they’d crossed the street; then, the two of them standing right by the coffee cart from yesterday, fingers snugly cradling their tall paper cups and cold-flushed faces barely inches apart, their gazes eagerly locked together and lit up by delicate smiles; and lastly, the two of them leaving together, with Prompto’s arm wrapped sideways around Ignis in turn, warm and serene and comfortable.

The headline reads, Citadel Secret Uncovered: Crown Prince’s Best Friend And Royal Advisor Cozying Up In Brazen Public Display – which, as far as Prompto’s concerned, is a bizarrely forward and shameless way of describing two buddies getting some beverages from a roadside cart. A quick skim of the article turns up nothing particularly out of place, though, other than the sentence: Limited public appearances together seem to suggest an ambiguous or discreet relationship with a history and depth that is largely unknown to the public eye, which Prompto can’t resist wrinkling the bridge of his nose at. Whether it’s a somewhat harmless thing to publish or not, this kind of thing isn’t exactly anyone’s business but theirs, in his opinion.

After all, he’s only recently started to feel like he and Ignis have finally started getting better acquainted than they’d been before, and there’s a part of him that does want that to be just between them alone.

‘I must confess that despite my usual vigilance, I never spotted anyone,’ Ignis says with one part patience, two parts unease. ‘Once is a random occurrence, but twice isn’t a coincidence. Being tailed by the sensationalist media in this manner is generally already a bother and an inconvenience as it is … I’d certainly hope that it wouldn’t end up having too much of an effect on my job in the long run.’

Prompto’s stomach clenches with sympathy, just hearing it, although there’s a surge of anxiousness starting to rattle at his nerve endings now, too; he looks up from the article, skewing one side of his mouth.

‘Oh, dude. I’m so sorry to get you caught up in this mess.’

‘Nonsense, Prompto. It’s not on you that we’re being followed.’ The reassurance comes out straightforward and without any hesitation, like it’s the most natural answer in the world, like Ignis hadn’t even entertained the thought of any part of this being Prompto’s fault – and Prompto’s gut maybe flutters just a little at that, grateful and overwhelmed. ‘They’re nice pictures, to say the least. The context behind why and how they were obtained, however, is a real shame.’

‘It’s actually kinda weird that they’d target us, though, right? I mean, I’d totally understand Noct being followed around by the paparazzi, but hey,’ Prompto shrugs in reply. ‘I would’ve thought that with you and me, we’d both sort of tend to blend into the background when it comes to, like, the limelight and stuff.’

A pause suddenly hangs between them, thick and looming.

But Ignis eventually murmurs, ‘… I wouldn’t say that you blend into the background, actually,’ and then clears his throat; a delicate noise that sounds almost kind of shy in a caring, good-natured way. ‘I can sincerely assure you that – and I mean this in all the very best respects – you’ve been quite easy to notice whenever you’ve wanted to be, you know. More or less any time you walk into any room.’

That stops Prompto instantly in his tracks.

Because Ignis has always had enough heat in him to dish out witty snark, but Prompto’s well aware that he’s also always been capable of being kind and appreciative, too. And even then, there’s a certain level of tenderness to the way he’d said that just now that Prompto’s never really heard from him before: nearly a perfect mirror image of the gentle expressions that he’d blatantly shown in the newspaper photos recently – that curious way that he’s openly been looking at Prompto like he’s more than glad to be there with him, like he’s almost a tiny bit fond.

For how strict and curt Ignis’ attitude can seem a lot of the time, it’s pretty incredible to see just how familiar and friendly and nice he can honestly be.

‘Damn, Iggy. You’re one hell of a smooth talker, you know that.’ A teasing smirk coils up at the corner of Prompto’s mouth, although it’s soaked with more seriousness in its underbelly than he’s technically letting on right now. ‘I meant that the paps would probably focus more on Noct when he’s around, but I guess he wasn’t around for these pics, huh? And I can totally see why they’ve got their eyes on you too, you know.’

It’s literally a shame, Prompto thinks, that they hadn’t really gotten to know each other better before this. Because he’d totally be willing to admit that the more of Ignis he’s getting to see, the more it’s sinking in just how much he actually likes what he’s seeing – and he can understand how anyone, including the media and the public, would be the same way.

A faint rosy smudge creeps up Ignis’ earlobes and he dips his head, cool and modest; however weird it may be to think this way about Ignis, of all people, Prompto can’t really hold back the tiny sliver of affection that’s tingling inside his own chest at the sight of it.

If he’d ever have to describe what a simultaneously majestic and mild-mannered bird looks like, the view right in front of him would probably be pretty much it. Not that he’d ever tell Ignis that.

‘Anyway, is it okay if I take this home and cut it out to keep? I mean, I usually just trash the morning paper on my way out of the house every day, since, like. I sorta don’t ever read it and my parents are more often traveling out of town for work than they are home.’ Crisp pages crinkle as Prompto gathers the newspaper closer to his chest. ‘I mean, I guess I’ve probably gotta stop doing that if we’re practically gonna be super-famous celebrities now, but, um. We look so nice, I really wanna keep it? If you don’t mind.’

Silence balloons between them at first, and right off the bat, Prompto hopes that the request isn’t out of line.

But then, Ignis’ eyes go soft and slack at the corners, brimming with gentle patience, and whatever worry and uncertainty’s left in Prompto’s nerve endings drains straight out like they’d never been there at all.

‘Trust you to find the silver lining in such a situation,’ Ignis murmurs, his tone ringing warm and appreciative. ‘Yes, Prompto, of course you can keep it.’

Prompto’s jaw and cheekbones burn at the answer, for some reason that he can’t really pull apart well enough in his thoughts to understand; but he flashes Ignis a wide toothy grin anyway, and the smile that he gets in reply feels like all he needs.

‘I mean, those new photos of you and Specs do look pretty cute.’

Prompto wipes the post-warmup slick of sweat from his brow, and huffs out a breathy laugh.

‘Yeah, I thought so, too,’ he says good-naturedly, folding himself in half in an attempt to reach his toes with his fingertips. ‘Didn’t I say that it kinda looked like we were out on a date? Can’t believe the new pics look even more like that.’

Noctis tips sideways, languidly stretching his hip. ‘And that doesn’t bother you.’

‘No. Why would it?’

Noctis studies him for a moment, silent and thoughtful, before letting out a casual, unconcerned sniff. ‘Eh, just think it’s interesting. Wouldn’t have expected you guys to suddenly get all comfy up in each other’s personal space like that, but hey.’ He pointedly leans in to eyeball Prompto with a more intense look of purpose, before murmuring in a low and deliberate voice: ‘I guess we all find love in weird places, don’t we.’

‘Oh, stop it, you.’ Prompto reaches over, giving Noctis a solid smack in the arm. ‘I like that I’m getting to talk to him more.’

It’s almost like a light bulb’s suddenly been switched on, funnily enough. Because until Noctis had mentioned it just now, it hadn’t really crossed Prompto’s mind how out of the ordinary it actually is for he and Ignis to have walked around in the open streets of the city while taking turns with their arms draped around each other. No doubts or hesitations; clearly Ignis had felt comfortable enough around him to huddle close to him in the midst of the city crowd, and Prompto had pretty much felt the same way.

How weird and amazing, he thinks, that a few breezy hours spent together in a café on a sunny, relaxed afternoon can already bring about that much.

‘Social media seems to like it, too,’ Noctis says with emphasis, dragging his tongue across dry lips to wet them. ‘There’s been a bit of talk. Especially between the teenage girls. In case you haven’t noticed.’

‘Oh, I noticed.’ Prompto lifts a knowing eyebrow; after all, he’s online often enough to have caught wind of it kind of quickly, and while there’d been a few sour posts expressing distaste and discomfort over his and Ignis’ unexpected closeness in the photos, they were eclipsed in much bigger numbers by other posts that’d been way more outspoken with their excitement at the idea. ‘Believe it or not, Gladio’s been tagging me in those posts all day.’

A brief, friendly eyeroll, and then Noctis jabs a rigid elbow into Prompto’s ribs in reply. ‘I’m sure he can’t wait to tell us what his favorites were. Anyway, c’mon, we’d better get some laps in before he gets here.’

‘Bet that listening to him ramble on about it will be just as fun as the actual training session,’ Prompto deadpans in light amusement, and gets moving.

Bumping into Ignis for the second time – nestled comfortably in the same seat, absentmindedly sipping the same drink, eyes attentively fixed on the same notebook – while visiting the café again a few days later is enough of a pleasant surprise that Prompto can actually feel his own skin prickling eagerly when he sees him, although it probably isn’t too unpredictable of a thing, considering how much Ignis seems to enjoy habit and routine.

In all honesty, it’s the kind of steady familiarity that Prompto’s actually always liked a lot about him.

‘Fancy seeing you here.’ Prompto’s greeting comes out cheeky, and complete with a slanted grin.

Ignis looks up, his already-gentle smile quickly warming over without a second thought, like he’s more than happy to see Prompto in front of him; just the sight of it has Prompto’s stomach fluttering with gratitude, tender and bright.

‘Well, I’ve got to get my iced Ebony fix somehow. What about you – another iced chocolate?’ Ignis asks smoothly, lifting one slim eyebrow and gesturing toward the empty seat in front of him. ‘I’ll shout.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Prompto croons in acceptance, upbeat with unashamed glee. ‘At some point I’ve gotta repay the favor, though! I mean, damn, this is already the second time you’re treating me.’

‘Come now, I don’t offer because I expect the gesture to be repaid.’ Ignis waves the nearest waitress over, and there’s a suave, upright air to even that simple gesture that’s somehow so eye-catching that it has Prompto painfully wondering exactly how he does it. But then again, Ignis is rarely ever short of perfect, most days. ‘I’m curious as to what’s brought you to these parts again, though, if you’d care to indulge me.’

‘Just walkin’ around taking some shots of the city.’ Prompto drops into the seat, then, enthusiastically unslinging the camera strap from around his neck. ‘You wanna see?’

‘Certainly. I fear that perhaps I may lack the artistic eye to be able to appreciate them to the fullest, but anything of yours is sure to be wonderful to look at, regardless.’

An unexpectedly lovely sentiment, and Prompto has to bite down on his cheek for a moment to rein in the mounting twinge in his chest.

‘… You’ve snapped quite a lot of shots of the city over the years, though, as I recall,’ Ignis continues after relaying Prompto’s order to the waitress. He takes the camera into the crooks of his fingers as it’s passed to him, not seeming to have noticed Prompto’s pause. ‘Is there something that draws you to it? Photographically speaking, of course.’

‘Yeah, um. I’d say mostly the people? You always get a lot of interesting faces around … like, people chilling on their day off, people tired from work and all that! And, well – in a big city like ours we don’t see the same face twice on the street all that often, do we?’ he answers, rapt eyes fixed on how keenly and thoughtfully Ignis is lingering on each photo as he scrolls through them one by one. ‘But I do like the shape of everything too. All the sharp angles and the bold lines and the open skyscape with big buildings rising up into it, y’know? Oh, hey, that one you’ve got there was actually one of my favorites from today! I mean, I know that a lot of people would probably look at this and basically just see some randoms chatting in front of a restaurant or whatever … but I dunno. They were laughing, so even if this isn’t anything special, I’d thought it’d look kinda nice. And it did.’

‘It does indeed. And really, now – your photographs aren’t just anything. You saw something worth capturing, so all of these have your flavor to them. All of these are you,’ Ignis answers reassuringly, still eyeballing each picture carefully while angling sideways to take a quick sip of his drink. ‘And it’s like you yourself told me last week: you’re invested in it, so no detail in this is trivial. I know how much love you’ve always put into your snapshots, so truth be told, I’m rather touched that you cared to share them with me.’

‘Dude, of course I would.’ Prompto’s ribs heave with the emphasis, and with the full weight of his next uneven exhale. ‘I’m the one who’s touched that you’d care so much about a bunch of pictures.’

‘Likewise, of course I would,’ Ignis tells him, easy and straightforward. ‘They’re yours.’

And with that, a comfortable silence settles over both of them. There’s something nice about the quiet company – that soft relaxation of just sitting together without any unnecessary small talk while Ignis is still browsing interestedly through Prompto’s photos; but by the time Prompto’s order is brought to their table, there’s a strange look on Ignis’ face, his expression somewhere close to a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

‘… You all good?’

‘More than,’ Ignis answers without skipping a beat, suddenly clearing his throat and shifting to straighten his shoulders. He sets the camera down with the utmost care; lifts his eyes back up to meet Prompto’s gaze. ‘It’s just … truly nice. That you’re here.’

Prompto swallows around an unexpected lump of emotion, suddenly halfway to overcome. How had he never noticed before that Ignis could be this sweet?

‘Aww, Iggy,’ he manages to scratch out, voice tilting up high with appreciation. ‘Shame we never used to do this before, huh? But I’m always totally down to come hang whenever you want me to, y’know! Like, whenever you feel like having me around. I mean, it’s always real nice having you around too, so …’

He reaches across the table to where Ignis’ hand is resting; casually slides the full length of his palm right over Ignis’, warm and heartfelt, before patting a few times with friendly encouragement.

Ignis stiffens underneath the touch, spiking an abrupt flicker of anxious concern in Prompto’s throat for a moment – but neither of them pull their hands away, so little by little, the niggling worry starts winding down. Edges dulling, doubts gradually fading like a receding tide.

Every inch of Ignis’ face softens, and for whatever reason, it almost feels like taking another step, like they’ve broken through something that Prompto can’t really put into words right now.

Because he isn’t sure how he’d describe it, exactly. But it’s something, all the same.

‘How can I possibly say no to that.’ The tips of Ignis’ knuckles nudge upward into the cushions of Prompto’s palm, discreet but more than soothing. ‘Getting to see more of a friend  – and potentially his masterful pictures as well – sounds like a bargain to me.’

A friend, he’d said.

Prompto bubbles out a cheerful laugh, fingers skimming back as he finally lets go.

The heat of the contact lingers in his skin, though, for all the hours that they end up spending in the café that afternoon.

Hot Date Caught On Camera: Private Paradise For Royal Retinue

Yeah, sure, so Prompto’s been consistently joking about the two of them looking like they’re on a date both times that they’d wound up in the news before this. But at no point in time had he seriously been expecting it to evolve into a legitimate headline.

And also … what the actual hell, because they really do look like they’re on a date.

Again, a bigger article with a bigger headline; this time midway down page three and a little to the left. There’s a lot about it that’s basically the same as the very first article that’d featured them, generally speaking, down to the angle of the photo, which means that it’d likely been snapped from the same place. Although now, Prompto’s hand is resting over Ignis’ on the table – and the way that they’re looking at each other, gazes soft and steady and entwined, can most definitely one hundred percent be mistaken for being almost smitten.

Prompto stares, pulse drumming like a storm in his throat.

There’s no explicit mention of their location, at least. Spotted for the second time in a small café situated in Insomnia’s central east; Prompto’s no reporter, and it’s not like he knows nearly enough about real, professional journalism to understand why the café hadn’t actually been outright named. But the news is the news, and it works in whatever way it works – he’s not about to question good journalistic ethics when it’s working out in his and Ignis’ favor, in any case.

He can already imagine Ignis freaking out a little anyway, though, and thinking about it is kind of really making him want to freak out a little too.

Once is a random occurrence, but twice isn’t a coincidence, Ignis had said. At least not when the press is involved.

Three times, for sure, can only mean that they’ve officially become of enough interest to the media now that it’s impossible to deny the fact that they’re definitely being followed.

Prompto’s knuckles clench a little around the edges of the newspaper; at least there’s a silver lining in the way that, despite how completely misleading the article is, he and Ignis still look pretty adorable together.

He heaves out a long, surrendering sigh, before ambling back in through the front door to find some scissors.

‘You were holding hands,’ Noctis points out coolly, deadpan.

Prompto splutters at that, heat burning at the underside of his jaw; he cranks his neck back, then, shooting a glare up at Noctis from where he’s seated on the floor.

‘It was basically an accident!’ he protests, with a firm yank at his boot to get it on.

‘How do you accidentally hold hands.’ Gladiolus’ drawl comes out sounding nonchalant, but obviously simmering with interest. ‘Beyond that, I’d like to know, what does basically actually mean in the context of accidental handholding.’

‘It means that it’s not like we knew that anyone was watching!’

The words have already left his mouth by the time his brain manages to catch up to realize exactly what he’s just implied, and in hindsight, it probably isn’t too shocking that the outburst is greeted with dead, haunting silence.

Ignis squeezes his eyes shut, pulling a deep breath in with clearly strained patience.

‘Give Prompto some space, please. Not another word from you two.’ A stern and strict statement, despite being calmly said. Gladiolus and Noctis don’t say anything in answer to that, and Prompto can only be grateful for the level-headed intervention, all in all – as well as totally impressed to see how much respect Ignis can actually command when he really wants to, even from his own liege. ‘Come, Prompto, the sun’s going down. Best we get you quickly home.’

‘Yeah, I’m good to go, dude,’ Prompto agrees, tugging on the other boot with a little more vigor, and springing animatedly to his feet. ‘Let’s head. Bye, guys.’

He reaches across to gently clap Ignis’ shoulder in warm encouragement as they make their way out the door together, while pointedly ignoring the painfully unsubtle looks that Noctis and Gladiolus are throwing at each other behind his back in response.

It’s almost strange, how a different mood takes over once they’re in the car. Although technically, being driven home by Ignis after a chill day with Noctis isn’t exactly a new thing for Prompto; not when Ignis has actually made a regular habit of offering Prompto rides since they’d met years ago, from as far back as their high school years. Maybe the thicker air now hovering between them has a lot to do with the tight, enclosed space – with only the two of them here alone.

And maybe the silent atmosphere’s just got him thinking too much.

Either way, though, all he can desperately hope for is that things haven’t gotten weird for Ignis because of the news articles or whatever. Not when the last thing he’d want at this stage is to put an end to – well, this.

‘… Something on your mind?’ Ignis asks kindly, voice soft with consideration. ‘You’re rather quiet compared to usual.’

‘I, uh—’ Truth be told, it’s kind of unfair for Ignis to use that generous and silky tone in any situation, considering how easily Prompto’s attention always latches on to it, for whatever reason; just like that, his mind’s already managing to lose all semblance of rational thought in its wake. ‘You’re, like, good at driving.’

No sooner had he blurted that out than he’s already mentally slapping himself.

Literally the only stupider compliment he could’ve given at this point would’ve been you can drive.

Ignis doesn’t seem to take offense, though, the corners of his lips twitching into the most minuscule smile.

‘That’s gracious of you. Yes, being good at driving ought to come in handy when every last nitty-gritty detail of Noct’s engagement has finally been untangled and locked in, I’d suspect.’

Prompto swallows at that; chews on his bottom lip without saying a word in reply. All things considered, he and Noctis have always tried their best to set aside some free time to spend together, even on their busiest days – and it’s almost hard for him to believe, sometimes, that it won’t be long before his best friend officially becomes a married man.

Not to mention that right now, Prompto’s sitting next to potentially the most competent person in the world. Who’s dressed all crisp and driving all straight-backed and everything.

Nervousness prickles in his stomach from out of nowhere; he has to wonder if he’ll still fit in.

Then, as if somehow able to read Prompto’s thoughts, Ignis murmurs, ‘I have the utmost faith that you’ll be able to get through anything that you put your mind to, but regardless, you’re never alone. I hope you know that even though my duties are to Noct, my spare time is most certainly available to you should you ever need me. Or want me.’

The words ring with a flare of respect, clear as day.

For a moment, Prompto’s floored. In a lot of ways, it’s kind of wild to think that Ignis – super-busy, disciplined, capable Ignis – would actually want to spare someone like him any time at all.

But then again, as far as Prompto’s concerned, Ignis is a really, really good guy, so maybe that’s not so much of a surprise, at the end of the day.

‘… What if I want you for something dumb?’ Prompto asks with a playful lift of his eyebrow. ‘Like, just hanging out at my place, or yours, or whatever. I don’t think we’ve ever done that.’

‘That’s hardly dumb at all,’ Ignis tuts, peering closely into the rear-view mirror all of a sudden. ‘I can most certainly spare a free day for that sometime, if you’d like.’

A sincere offer lit with genuine interest; warmth fills Prompto’s chest from edge to edge.

‘Alrighty. It’s a date, buddy.’

Ignis rolls his eyes at that, subtle amusement tilting the corner of his mouth. ‘Are all of our meetups dates to you now.’

‘Well, the news seems to think so, right?’ Cheery laughter trembles in Prompto’s lungs like glittering wind chimes. ‘But seriously, I’m definitely having a lot of fun on every single one. So it’s almost like it is!’

‘You may change your mind once you’ve seen too much of me.’

‘Nah. I won’t.’ Prompto eyes Ignis sidelong, straightforward and sure. ‘It’s you.’

Ignis turns to him, brows slanted and pupils bright; his gaze as unexpectedly open, maybe even vulnerable, as if no one’s ever said anything like that to him before.

Something about it has Prompto’s pulse speeding up more or less out of nowhere.

‘I appreciate that.’ Ignis swivels his head again, focusing his attention back onto the road. The line of his mouth slackens; a wisp of gladness curls his lips.

They’ve been in the car for a while by the time Prompto gets the niggling feeling that they’re not getting any closer to his house, and as much as he’s enjoying getting to hang out longer on their drive, he’s pretty sure that it’s probably unusual for Ignis to be really indecisive about anything, or to have a less-than-efficient approach to getting things done. As soon as Prompto’s looking over at him with confusion, though, Ignis is staring intently into the rear-view mirror again for some reason.

‘Hey … not that I’m particularly in any hurry to get away from you or anything,’ Prompto pipes up, more than puzzled. ‘But are you driving us through, like, a lot of back roads or something? I don’t think I’ve taken this route home before.’

With that, the sharp angle of Ignis’ jaw clenches, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens white-knuckled.

‘… I have no intention of alarming you,’ he mumbles slowly, carefully, through seemingly gritted teeth. ‘But we were being followed by another car for several blocks just now.’

Cold surprise jolts through Prompto’s veins like electricity.

‘Wait, what?’ he flings out with maybe more volume than necessary. Instinct and reflex kick into gear before anything remotely close to sensible thinking does; he shoots up from his seat and spins around to have a look.

The fact that that’s a bad move only crosses his mind when Ignis reaches out to gently tug on the shirt fabric at his waist, urging him to settle back down. He crumples his face in a grimace of apology, sheepish and instantly cooperative.

‘I think I’ve managed to lose them now, though,’ Ignis clarifies steadily, eyes trailing up to the mirror again. ‘I’m awfully sorry for keeping you.’

‘No, no, nothing to apologize for, dude. Damn.’ Tension bleeds into Prompto’s shoulder blades, his mind racing even when it’s finally putting two and two together. ‘You think it’s another reporter?’

For a moment, Ignis’ lips just compress into a thin line. But then, he raises his chin with a touch of determination, saying: ‘Regardless, I’ll get you home safe,’ and nothing else.

The promise rings like a comfort in Prompto’s ears.

To his surprise, Ignis actually goes out of his way to exit the vehicle first and courteously open the car door for him once they’ve pulled up in front of his house – a considerate gesture that’s probably more to do with worry than polite chivalry, especially after what’s just happened. But still, it’s thoughtful, and to be honest, Prompto can’t even begin to understand what he’d ever done to deserve all of this. To have Ignis’ selfless attention and genuine concern. To have somebody like Ignis, who’s obviously got his back, around at all. To simply have Ignis here with him, period.

Ignis waits, lowering his lashes and watching patiently from underneath them, as Prompto extracts himself from the car; and strangely enough, just seeing it is enough to stir up a somewhat fearless impulse in Prompto’s gut.

‘Hey, um,’ he hesitates, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. But then, throwing all caution to the wind, he braces himself and blurts out, ‘Oh, what the hell.’

He steps in, careful and without any hurry; slides both palms over Ignis’ shoulders, and gathers Ignis into his arms.

They’ve never hugged before. Prompto had never even imagined, in his wildest dreams, that they’d ever hug at all. For all of his mostly strict vibe, Ignis is definitely malleable; a parallel of firm bones and limber muscle, of hard angles and tender curves. Ignis is only dead still for a moment before he slowly, gradually dissolves into the touch – winding warm and secure arms around Prompto’s back, too, and Prompto finds himself daring to drift a hand across to the nape of Ignis’ neck, fingertips trailing into the ends of Ignis’ hair.

It’s curiously delicate, lingering; nothing at all like the way Noctis will squeeze the life out of him before quickly letting go, or the way Gladiolus will outright yank him in and leave a hearty clap on his back after training sessions.

A hug that feels bizarrely intimate, and weirdly fitting for the two of them. Like their gaps and corners and contours have slotted together just right.

On top of everything, Ignis smells really nice.

Ignis’ pupils are blown wide and dark when Prompto finally pulls back and lets go; a slightly uneven exhale flutters out past hard, white teeth. Abrupt epiphany sets in, all of a sudden, and Prompto realizes then and there that he’s the direct cause of that look on Ignis’ face. That dusky haze of overwhelming wonder, sensitivity, heat.

That, along with the fact that some indescribable part of this hadn’t felt entirely like a plain and regular friend-hug, is a lot to take in.

‘Text me later?’ Prompto says, the beginnings of a smile licking like sunlight at the tips of his mouth. ‘I wanna know that you got home okay, too.’

And Ignis answers, soft but vibrant: ‘I most surely will.’

Ignis stays right where he’s standing, serene eyes following Prompto without straying, until Prompto’s made his way into the house and closed the front door. Prompto’s lungs clench taut, breathless; his heartbeats start to skip in his ears in an erratic rhythm.

Something’s coming to life, inhaling, exhaling, shaking the firm bedrock loose underneath his feet.

And damn, because he may not particularly know what it is, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it anyway.

Good morning, Prompto.

Even when he’s still shaking off the final bleary leftovers last night’s sleep, and even though it’s a text message and not a verbal one, Prompto can almost distinctly hear Ignis’ low, velvety murmur in the greeting.

Hi Iggy, Prompto types out drowsily, a lazy and happy contentment settling across his chest. You sleep alright after you got home?

Barely a moment’s passed by before his phone chimes with another message: Very much so. And you?

Yeah, slept like a log. Like, hardly a care in the world, y’know, thanks to somebody making sure I got home safe, Prompto replies with a droopy grin.

His mouth is pulled wide open by the overwhelming lure of a hefty yawn; there’s something so nice about this, really, to be nestled in the heat of tangled sheets and kissed by the flowering light of an early morning, exchanging simple small talk that’s managing to cheer him up in more ways than any sort of casual chitchat technically should. But he knows that he needs to start his day even when it’s only just past eight o’clock, so he peels his blankets away and stretches his arms, before tugging himself eagerly out of bed.

He’s freshly showered and fully dressed and is halfway through cooking some sizzling bacon and eggs on the stove when he gets yet another text: It was my pleasure, although I just discovered that, regrettably, we didn’t quite escape the gossip tabloids again. Did you perchance see this morning’s paper?

Just like that, the relaxed post-sleep haze vanishes completely, and Prompto doesn’t even bother holding back his dismayed groan.

Once he’s standing out at his front doorway with the morning newspaper in his hands, though, it’s harder to deny that the restless, nervous stir in his stomach’s maybe got the tiniest bit of enthusiastic curiosity to it. After all, the photos from the previous articles have been so sweet-looking, and hey, it’s not like there’s anything weird about looking forward to this one being more or less the same.

Right?

Prompto heaves in a deep breath, and flips the first page open.

And honestly … he’d say that Head Over Heels: Royal Retinue Exposed In Romantic Drive Out seems like a pretty outlandish headline.

It’s easy to catch instantly too, because this time, the article’s right on the second page. Prompto can only wonder, with some astonishment, just how the reporters had managed to take this picture even though Ignis had managed to swerve the trailing car; there must’ve been another photojournalist lurking nearby on foot, he’s guessing. And it isn’t too hard to track down where he lives anyway, he supposes – maybe the fact that that’s obviously been figured out isn’t all too surprising, in the end.

Dodging excessive public media attention while still casually going about his day probably isn’t as simple as he’d originally thought it’d be, it seems.

But the snapshot itself is beautiful.

They’ve been captured mid-hug, standing next to the car, and it definitely looks as much like an everyday friend-hug as how it’d felt yesterday – as in: not at all. Arms curled closely around each other, bodies pressed flush and tight, with Prompto’s chin snugly tucked into the junction of Ignis’ shoulder and Prompto’s roving fingers gently resting over the base of the nape of Ignis’ neck. For the most part, it’s two-thirds of Prompto’s back that’s taking up a lot of the shot, but Ignis’ face is shown in full: warm, low-lidded, content. As if he’s just found the one exact place where he wants to be, or something crazy like that.

Prompto can totally see how it could’ve been mistaken for something romantic.

Fishing his phone back out of his pocket, he quickly types out: I hate to say it, for obvious reasons, but damn. We look really good.

A minute or two goes by before Ignis’ reply comes in, the weight of it somewhat unreadable. The headline doesn’t bother you?

Twice, now, Prompto’s been asked a question like this. Rigid teeth chew down on his tongue, and he can’t help but hope that it isn’t because he gives off any impression of being more on the loose or careless side when it comes to his feelings, or whatever.

As long as it doesn’t bother you, then nah, Prompto says with conviction; there’s nothing truer than that, in spite of everything. We’re cute as hell.

The next few minutes of unresponsive silence has him bouncing on the balls of his feet, though, nerves prickling and on edge.

It’s only when he’s extracted a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and snipped out the article to stash away that his phone tinkles and buzzes again – he almost dives into his pocket in a flash, then, heart pounding against his ribs.

Well … you certainly aren’t wrong about that.

Relief blooms like unfolding petals over every muscle of Prompto’s face, his mouth easing into a mild toothy grin.

There aren’t exactly a lot of people whose opinion he respects more, in the end. His chest could practically burst with emotion just from that message alone.

But I’d like for us both to take care, says the cautious text that comes as a follow-up barely a minute later. Particularly given that the news has tracked you down to your family home, now. I’ve tried to raise it with the authorities and they’ve mentioned that the reporters technically aren’t breaking any laws if they’re conducting their work in public spaces – as in, on the open street. Utter rubbish, really.

Yeah, I sorta figured that that probably would’ve been the case, Prompto types out in acknowledgement. Oh well. It is what it is.

And Ignis answers: Indeed, but I’d sleep better at night knowing that you were keeping safe.

Before Prompto can properly bask in the rising wave of breathless wonder and outright joy flooding the pit of his stomach, though, a loud knock reverberates at his door – his friends are finally here.

He’s just bounded back down the hallway and swung the front door open again, hurriedly sending off the succinct reply of My hero. I’ll make sure to keep my eyes peeled! when he’s greeted by two sets of laid-back, curious stares at his doorstep.

‘Oh, boy. Here we go,’ Noctis sighs in mock-despair, shooting a pointed stare at the phone in Prompto’s hand. ‘Who’s got you looking all gooey-eyed now? What, did you like, swap numbers with another random cute girl on the street or something? Hasn’t it only been about two months since the last one.’

Prompto blinks at him, caught in a knot of sudden confusion. ‘Gooey-eyed? What girl do you think I … dude, I was texting Iggy.’

Gladiolus and Noctis immediately throw each other an astonished look for some reason, eyes wide and jaws sinking ajar.

‘… You guys wanna come in? Gotta inhale my breakfast first, and then we can go,’ Prompto says either way, brushing it off with something of a spring to his step as he makes his way back inside. ‘Man, how long has it actually been since we last had a chill day out. Iggy gonna join us at lunch later, or what? He didn’t say just now.’

‘Nah, he can’t,’ Noctis answers as he follows without complaint; Gladiolus then strolls in, too, deliberately sweeping the door closed behind them. ‘Said he got a lot on his plate today. Just you, me, and our big meat shield as chaperone. At least Gladio can block any cameras from getting a good angle of you that way.’

‘Dude, don’t even joke about that,’ Prompto outright groans, although it’s tinged with a note of good humor. ‘Did you see today’s paper? Those headlines are getting spicier and more imaginative by the minute.’

‘You say that, but you seem to like it just as much as Iggy does.’ Gladiolus cocks a single eyebrow in reply, clearly intrigued and full of intent. ‘He can say that he’s worried about being followed or whatever, but then he goes and keeps all the newspaper clippings of you two inside a drawer in his desk, too.’

That stops Prompto in his tracks.

‘I … really?’

‘Yeah. Has a special little yellow folder for them and everything,’ Gladiolus drawls, the words swelling into a casual yawn. ‘And he got all shy and defensive and touchy when I tried to ask him about it, so obviously it’s important to him.’

It’s important to him.

Prompto can’t even put together a proper reply to that, because damn.

It’s important to him.

He doubts he’ll be able to stop thinking about that for a while.

And then the texts, emails, and social media notifications start pouring in with a lot more gusto.

Old schoolmates, old coworkers from various part-time jobs, and tons and tons and tons of unknown strangers, mostly adolescent girls – not to mention a few people in countless circles a lot closer to home. He manages to reply to Iris’ excited ramble, clarifying to her that the last article had shown nothing more than a casual goodbye hug; he manages to take a flabbergasted phone call from his parents, too, and explain that the media had just been reading too much into things. The overstimulation gets too much after that, and instead of replying to any more of the hundreds of notifications, he decides to give up right then and there, turning them all off entirely.

‘… I do hope that they weren’t displeased.’ There’s a barely-there hitch to Ignis’ tone – maybe a hint of nervous restlessness.

‘Nah. Not at all,’ Prompto flaps a hand in reassurance, slumping back against the firm cushioning of the café booth and nodding at one of the waitresses hovering nearby to signal her over. ‘Believe it or not, they were actually insisting on meeting you properly? I literally had to be like, no Mom, Dad, we’re not actually dating, the news is just painting us that way for some reason – and seriously, it pretty much went in one ear and out the other. They want all four of us including you to go out for lunch the next time they’re back in town, which, like … only the Astrals would know when the hell that’d be, to be honest.’ He swivels his head, then, turning to the waitress. ‘Iced chocolate for me and iced Ebony for this guy, please. I’ll treat this time, Iggy.’

‘Much obliged.’ A faint smile bends Ignis’ mouth, almost as if his previous worries are already starting to fade away just from Prompto’s answer. ‘Well, I’ve largely been surrounded by coworkers who have been giving me obnoxiously nosy looks since this entire thing started, which is rather exhausting to deal with, so it’s good to hear a somewhat more positive and promising kind of reaction coming from someone … anyone. Despite the misunderstanding, I hope I haven’t made a terrible impression on your parents, regardless.’

‘Nah, no way. I tell them stories about you all the time! You’ve basically had, like, a gleaming reputation with them since the day we met, dude – I can tell you that for real. And I mean … they’re aware of how often they’re out of town for work, as well as the fact that I’d always have to find people to keep company with on my own terms, so, uh. I’ve gotta be honest, they were actually pleased with the news.’

Okay, so he’s potentially just worded it in a way that sort of implies that the news articles are all true, which they both technically know it isn’t. But before he can so much as entertain the thought of correcting himself, Ignis is already speaking up.

‘That’s a relief. And in all sincerity, I’m more than happy to have been one of the few to keep you company.’

Prompto’s lips stretch into a grin at that, wide and cheerful. ‘It’s cool of you to even want to keep me in mind, buddy.’

‘Certainly. It isn’t hard to want that, when I’m very much enjoying myself as well.’ Soft, green-lit eyes trail over to the window, and settle themselves on the outdoor view past the sleek glass. ‘I can’t be more glad that you walked into this café and found me, that very first day.’

So Ignis can sense it, too. That that was the first time that the air between them had changed; that they’d gone from casual, lukewarm acquaintances to something else completely; that the vague connection that they’d mostly been obliged to forge and maintain through Noctis since their high school years had shifted in some way.

Four hours alone together, and a few beverages each. That’d been all it’d taken for some unseen door to have started sliding open.

And Prompto can’t possibly be happier for it.

Ignis’ eyes wrinkle appreciatively at the edges as if he’s thinking a similar thought, and even the idea of him feeling the same way has Prompto’s skin prickling with thrill out of the blue. ‘Speaking of which, I wouldn’t mind continuing to meet here at leisure, too, if you’d be partial to that. This is a rather nice café, and I think we …’

The dim smile falters, fades – Ignis’ jaw slackens, and his words suddenly die there.

He’s peering at a point beyond the window glass again, attention locked in keen and piercing. Prompto turns in confusion, glancing over to look at whatever seems to have managed to catch Ignis on high alert, too.

And out behind the tall, trimmed decorative bushes across the spacious alleyway, there’s a stir of subtle movement; a sharp, reflective gleam flashes from inside the thick mottling of the leaves. Something small, bright. Like the smooth curve of a camera lens.

Someone’s hiding there.

Seeing it, Prompto’s blood runs cold. Realization sets in, and he's suddenly brought back to a memory of their first time in this café, when Ignis had also stared out the window and mentioned that he’d thought he’d noticed something; the first news article had been released in print the next day – the deceivingly lackluster start to all of this – and that’s far from being a coincidence.

‘… Prompto,’ Ignis murmurs, dreadfully slow and quiet. ‘Tell me you saw that.’

A waitress briefly comes by, setting their drinks in front of them, but they’re both left too stunned to even react.

‘Yeah.’ Prompto’s answer comes out faint, almost breathless. ‘I did.’

Ignis doesn’t say anything else. He tilts himself forward; pulls in a long and continuous sip of his drink as if he’s trying to act natural, his expression emptying to a blank, neutral calm that’s almost chilling.

So Prompto, sitting still, does the same.

They’ve barely gotten through half their drinks, though, when another streak of motion from inside the greenery abruptly catches Prompto’s eye – and not only does it have him nearly jumping out of his own skin, but it also has Ignis visibly startling in his seat.

That’s all that Prompto can take. No way in hell are either of them going to stay here a second longer, as far as he’s concerned.

‘C’mon.’ He unfolds his legs right away and pushes himself to his feet, digging out fistful of gil from his pocket and tossing it slapdash onto the table. ‘We should go.’

Ignis nods in quick agreement and follows, looking clearly as wound up and on edge as Prompto basically is right now.

Without even a beat of hesitation, Prompto reaches out; takes hold of Ignis’ hand; tugs him along urgently as they start to leave. Ignis’ grip is warm, tight, secure in his own.

They don’t let go of each other even when they’re well and truly out of the area.

‘You were holding hands.’ Noctis drags each word out, long and pointed, without looking away from the pot on the stove.

Prompto’s mouth flies open, rearing and ready to protest, before he quickly thinks better of it and clamps his lips closed again. Well, okay. He has no rebuttal for that, despite it being an exact repeat of the same deadpan comment from Noctis a while back, because this time, he and Ignis had been holding hands while they’d known that they were being watched.

In fact, they’d actually held hands more or less right up until they’d had to separate. They hadn’t even bothered or cared to let go the entire time that Ignis had ended up walking Prompto home from the café; after everything that’d happened, it’d felt safe, and stable, and just nice, and – yeah. Prompto pretty much has no counterargument for that whatsoever.

‘Shut up,’ is all he manages to say.

Noctis hums in reply, traces of a shit-eating smile ballooning on his face and squinted eyes wrinkling with amusement, and Prompto can’t help but think it’s an absolute crime that it’s a crime to murder the Prince.

Another day, another article on page two. More Sparks Flying For Royal Retinue is all that the headline had said, simple and effective; and the accompanying photo had been a surprisingly clever capture of the moment that they’d made to leave the café, hand-in-hand. “Clever” meaning that it’d been taken during a convenient and specific millisecond where – maybe as a result of singling out the best from a series of rapid-fire snapshots in a photographic burst – it’d looked like they were just walking away together while showing no visible signs of being anything less than calm about it.

In hindsight, Prompto probably should’ve guessed that the press would manage to nail that with so little effort.

‘… So hey, when’s lunch gonna be ready,’ Noctis monotones, idly picking a fleck of dust off his sleeve.

‘Dude, if you keep breathing down my neck, you’re gonna start making me antsy. C’mon, It’s not like I’m Iggy.’ Prompto’s mouth twists into a frown; his teeth click with restless impatience. But he spoons some of the pasta sauce to his lips for a taste, and can tell well enough that the depth of the flavor is just right by the pleasant kick of the spices heating his tongue – before he knows it, his frown’s already quickly turning upside-down. ‘Man, it’s a real shame that he isn’t here right now to try this, though, y’know? Sorta wonder if it’d be up to his standard. Actually … I kinda wonder what else I’d know how to cook that he might like? Maybe one day I should actually cook something with him and see.’

‘You don’t wonder if it’d be up to my standard? Or what I might like?’ Noctis offers unhelpfully, lips pursing into a ridiculous pout.

Prompto’s eyes narrow into some degree of a dirty, exasperated look which he’d like to think is scorching, if it weren't for the fact that it’s being met head-on with an unflinching, unbothered stare.

‘You really care what he thinks, huh,’ Noctis points out, and there’s some steady undertone of knowing to his voice that admittedly has Prompto squirming.

He huffs, cheekbones warming beyond his control. Frankly, he’s not even sure he knows why he’s getting all shy about this; either way, the intense scrutiny isn’t exactly helping.

‘He’s good at cooking, and you’re, like, a disaster. That’s it.’ A flimsy hand bats in Noctis’ direction to shoo him away. ‘Gimme some room, I’m gonna take the pasta off the stove.’

There’s an upward twitch to the edges of Noctis’ mouth as he cooperates by stepping out of the way – an obviously gratified smile that’s still itching under Prompto’s skin, although he’d never actually admit that out loud. But they leave the conversation there, and that’s that.

Their chill early afternoon passes by in a blink, curled up together on Noctis’ comfortable couch with the weirdly relaxing clamor of an action movie playing on the TV and Prompto’s head lazily nestled against Noctis’ shoulder, slack muscles heavy and bellies full from a satisfying lunch. The pasta’s good; then again, considering how much time Prompto’s spent on his own at home, fending for himself, he already knows he’s got the ability to cook simple stuff going for him, anyway.

Not that it’s doing anything to get Noctis’ earlier words to leave him alone. And it isn’t long before his mind’s vaguely wandering to the tempting possibility of having Ignis try his homemade food, for once – a lingering thought that manages to hang around so stubbornly that he’s basically already off his seat by the time the credits have started to roll, spurred on by the sudden, unexpected urge to stop by Ignis’ to take him some of the leftovers.

‘You don’t wanna stay for another movie?’ Noctis asks, clearly curious.

‘Not today, my man.’ Sloping sideways to lean a firm shoulder against the front door, Prompto messily wiggles one shoe on, then the other. ‘Next time, I promise. I wanna bring Iggy some of this.’

Noctis ejects a puff of air through his nose, mock-unimpressed, but without any real jab or resentment to it. ‘Can’t believe we’ve gotten to the point where you’re ditching me for Specs. You guys sound tight as hell now.’

‘You’re not the only one who thinks that,’ Prompto sighs in defeat. All joking aside, he hasn’t turned any of his social media notifications back on since he’d turned them off several days ago to catch a break from the overwhelming noise of everything, and at this rate, he figures he probably won’t for a while yet. ‘I swear you’ve totally got my full attention tomorrow afternoon, yeah? I’ll see you later.’

And with that, Prompto makes his way out of Noctis’ apartment with the tidily packaged pasta tucked between his fingers, and is gone.

It isn’t a long walk from Noctis’ to Ignis’. Prompto’s been there once, as a tag-along when Noctis had had some quick business to take care of; he knows that it makes sense for Ignis and Noctis to live in such close proximity to each other, really, and it’s not like he’s jealous of them or anything, but damn – it might’ve been pretty nice, he thinks, if he’d also lived nearby instead of being a train ride away.

He hadn’t felt close enough to anyone other than Noctis to make the effort of commuting to see them, honestly, and he knows it’s better to look forward rather than dwelling on the past, but still, it’s hard to take his mind off it. Because who knows if he and Ignis might’ve felt more motivated to get to know each other better and pay casual visits to each other earlier than this. Who knows if they’d have spent some quiet evenings curled up on one of their couches with an easy chat, a warm drink, and all the time in the world. Who knows if they’d ever have actually spent the night together, as any pair of good friends would.

Then again … who knows if they’ll end up doing a lot of that from now on.

He’s so wrapped up in that thought, and the funny, abrupt heat that’s clambering up past the column of his neck because of it, that the footsteps only register in his brain when he’s a few blocks away.

A continuous noise at the rim of his senses, like the whistling of wind or the pattering of rain: something that’s there even when it’s unacknowledged, or ignored, or unnoticed. Although he’s definitely becoming aware of it now, because he has to quickly stop to double-check which street he’s on, and the distant footsteps stop as well, all of a sudden.

Prompto’s pulse starts to drum in his throat.

For a moment, he can’t tell whether he’s overthinking it. But as soon as he starts walking again, the footsteps start up again, too, and the perfect timing is maybe a little too unsettling for him to ignore. So he stops in his tracks for the second time, just as a test, and pulls out his phone to pretend to fiddle with it.

The trailing footsteps pause. Exactly like before.

A trickle of apprehension creeps into Prompto’s veins.

He doesn’t waste time in getting himself moving again, blood going cold in his veins and his own footsteps picking up into a more urgent pace. Thank the Astrals he’s almost there, because it doesn’t even matter at this point that he’s draped in broad daylight with sundown a good hour or two away, or if he’s only being followed by completely harmless journalists out to get a story and nothing else. As nice as all of the photos may have looked, and how much he’s liked them so far, he’d still rather not be shadowed for more of them if he were able to choose.

Having Ignis here next to him with their hands slotted together, as tight and reassuring as the last time they’d held hands, would seriously be really nice right about now.

He can hear the footsteps behind him also getting quicker in an unmistakable attempt to catch up, and as it is, nothing at the moment could’ve set off the warning sirens in his head more than that. With a jolt of dread and alarm, he breaks into a run—

—and crashes straight into Ignis’ arms.

Ignis stares down at him, seeming shocked; Prompto slants his head back to stare up at him, too, equally shocked. Because, sure – he’d obviously come here to see Ignis, but it’s not like he’d expected to find him literally standing outside the apartment building or anything.

Openly baffled, Ignis falters, ‘Prompto—?’

‘There’s someone—’ is all Prompto can manage to murmur under his breath, fingers twisting into the fabric of Ignis’ shirt. ‘I think I’m being tailed.’

It doesn’t take any more than that for Ignis’ expression to completely shift and change.

Something in his gaze hardens, delicate green phasing into steel. Prompto’s always known how well Ignis can command any situation, how intimidating he can be when he needs to be; but something about the way his backbone’s straightening and his jaw’s setting firm right now almost makes it seem like it’s personal. Like he’s involved because Prompto’s involved.

Seeing it steals Prompto’s breath clean away, striking and indescribable.

‘I know you’re there,’ Ignis calls out openly, voice cold as stone. A sturdy arm slowly circles Prompto’s shoulders, safe and secure; as soon as Ignis sweeps him in close, though, a vivid wash of fluorescent light from somewhere behind Prompto drenches their surroundings out of the blue – and even when his mind’s racing a million miles a minute, he knows what it is: a bright camera flash.

The stiff plastic of the food container squashes between them in a big, awkward bulk, but Prompto presses in more anyway, gathering himself up closer to Ignis as best as he’s able to.

‘Should you to continue to skulk around the area, I guarantee you that you will be dealt with personally,’ Ignis declares without so much as a hint of playing around, before quickly leading and ushering Prompto toward the door of the building. ‘I needn’t even raise my fists to ensure that the relevant authorities wouldn’t be able to save you once I’m done.’

In all respects, it isn’t even the icy tone that sends a shiver through Prompto’s bones.

It’s the fact that Ignis is brandishing that threat for him.

His gut reels like it’s been shaken to its core; he knows perfectly well, too, that the electric spark blazing up his spine right now definitely has more to do with that than the actual tension of being followed, for sure.

It’s almost a shame that Ignis has to let go of him so they could properly make their way upstairs via the elevator – after all, he wouldn’t exactly have minded being huddled up against Ignis for a little bit longer, considering how protective and comforting it’d felt just now. But Ignis reaches over to take his hand, at least, just as Prompto had wanted before, and Prompto can hardly swallow back his sigh of relief when the heat of their palms finally slide together. A soothing balm.

Prompto’s fingertips are still prickling from the contact by the time they’re bundled inside Ignis’ actual apartment. And it’s then that it fully sinks in that they’re all alone.

He’s never dropped by to visit Ignis on his own before. And for someone who doesn’t seem to strip himself bare all that often, at least from what Prompto can see, something about Ignis inviting him in on the fly while being so ready and willing about it feels almost intimate in a terrifying way he can’t even begin to explain.

‘… Iggy, I—’ Prompto bites down on his lip, and holds out the packaged food in offering. ‘I made pasta for lunch when I was hanging out at Noct’s earlier, and, um. There’s extra. Tons of extra.’

He lets go of Ignis’ hand, and their touch breaks; connected fingers gently separate and drop away.

For a thick, breathless moment of silence, Ignis doesn’t react in any way other than by staring at the container. But after a while, he slowly reaches out, carefully accepting it into his hands.

‘Is that why you’ve come by?’ he asks, voice thawing until it’s soft beyond measure: an unbelievable contrast from the rigid chill that it’d been only a few minutes ago. ‘To bring me food?’

‘Ah … yeah …?’ Prompto starts, the words rumbling out small and sheepish. ‘I mean, I know that this is totally a spur-of-the-moment thing and I should’ve called to let you know I was dropping by, like, for all I know you could’ve already had dinner plans and—’

‘—Not at all. I was actually just leaving to procure some groceries to patch together a quick dinner without any real plan, but then you bumped into me out there.’ Ignis pulls the packaged food in close to himself, cradling it to his own ribcage as if it were something precious. ‘Now I won’t have to.’

And Ignis is looking at him like that. Like he’s already been doing lately, with every proof of the same looks between them having been preserved in a whole lot more newspaper articles than either of them had ever predicted or asked for. Like Prompto being around means something significant to him to at least some degree.

All things considered, it’d definitely been the right choice to come here.

Because right now, Prompto can’t think of a single other place where he’d rather be.

‘… I feel as though it’d be a terrible shame for me to delight in your pasta all alone, however,’ Ignis continues, his tone as smooth and matter-of-fact as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He visibly chews on his cheek and squares his shoulders, then, as if bracing himself. ‘Would you like to stay?’

‘Oh,’ Prompto blurts out, having not expected that. ‘For dinner? Or for the night?’

Un-freaking-believable.

He may as well just launch himself into space at this point, because even he knows how ridiculous that reply is. He’s not sure whether reflex had kicked in that quickly just now because he’s so used to saying the exact same thing whenever Noctis is the one asking, or whether it’s because of – potentially some other reason that he hasn’t thought of. Still, he figures it must be nice to have a brain that actually worked faster than his mouth.

But before he can say anything else, Ignis answers, ‘Either. Both, if you’d like,’ in a thin breath that snags on the words, although his voice is as level as ever. Steady, as if he’s got plenty of reasons to be forward and daring. ‘You’re more than welcome to stay over. Whether it’s to steer clear of bothersome reporters, or whether you’d simply like to – either way. It’d be a pleasure to have you, and I truly do mean that.’

Prompto clenches his wrists. Counts to ten in an inhale. Tries to stay calm.

‘… Yeah.’ The reply comes out in nearly a stumble, but he’s beyond caring. Because he’s just been given the offer to stay the night with Ignis – not at Noctis’, and not with Noctis around, but just Ignis and only Ignis, for once – and the thought of that is probably a little more thrilling than it should be. ‘I’d love to.’

Then again, though, for Prompto to feel this way whenever Ignis is involved isn’t exactly anything new anymore.

He’s coaxed awake by sunny warmth and soft treads scraping over grainy carpet in the distance.

Gradually cracking an eye open, he manages to register that he’s not in his own room – or even his own home. Faint morning light slices through window glass in rays of yellow silk, its radiant heat spilling like syrup across every stretch of his skin that it can reach. There’s a mildly floral fragrance of inexpensive soap sunken into a heavy, comforting blanket; a pillow that’s a little more dense and firm than he’s used to; sheets that are more crisp than he’s familiar with, while still giving way underneath his touch. He sure as hell isn’t in his own bed, either.

Then he remembers where he is, and suddenly everything makes sense.

Tugged fully out of the thick remnants of deep, uninterrupted sleep, his mouth surrenders to a breathy and outstretched yawn; heavy eyelids blink away the mist and moisture smeared across his lashes. He lazily hoists himself up into a sitting position after that, just in time to see Ignis strolling in while balancing a full tray in his hands.

‘Ah, you’re awake. Wonderful,’ he says with satisfaction, arching himself over to set the tray down onto the nightstand at Prompto’s left. Wisps of pale steam curl and rise from small plates of stacked pancakes, waffles, toast – freshly hot with a sweet intermingling aroma that has Prompto’s mouth instantly watering. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

‘I wasn’t, but I am now,’ Prompto beams at him, brimming with unrestrained delight. ‘Like, damn. You’re a miracle, you know that? This looks amazing. You seriously made all of this for me?’

Ignis pushes up a sleek eyebrow at that. ‘You don’t see anyone else here, do you?’

Prompto reaches out and punches him gently in the hip, smug and playful. ‘Actually, I do. And he’s right in front of me. Get in the bed, we’re sharing this.’

For a moment, Ignis sways a little hesitantly on one foot, muscles tensing. Almost as if he’s stuck halfway between acceptance and hanging back; as if he wants to get in, but isn’t really sure how appropriate it’d be.

A casual, friendly eyeroll, and Prompto good-naturedly pats the space next to him on the mattress. ‘Iggy, this is your bed. C’mon, I’m not gonna be able to finish all this food. Get in here.’

So Ignis nods.

It doesn’t feel like all that long ago when they’d been sitting in the car side-by-side, talking about hanging out at my place, or yours, or whatever – and now, they’re here. Ignis makes his way around to the other side of the bed, and in no time at all, he’s slowly clambering in and sweeping the blanket over his own lap; shuffling close, and closer, until his and Prompto’s arms and legs are seamlessly pressed together in the middle; peacefully settling himself in, as if having Prompto here were a completely normal part of his morning, every day.

They’re propped up in a stable enough way now to balance the rigid tray on their straightened thighs, so Prompto swivels over to retrieve it, taking his time to carefully slide it across their laps.

‘Did you sleep alright?’ Ignis watches intently as Prompto picks up the spoon, before picking up the leftover knife and fork himself.

‘Like a baby. Thanks to you having my back, as always.’ Prompto digs right in, starting on the pancakes without mercy while Ignis pokes gracefully at one of the waffles. ‘We could’ve just shared the bed last night, you know. I mean, we’re sharing it right now.’

‘Not to worry. My couch was comfortable enough for one night, and I’d hoped for you to be able to rest well after everything you’d been through yesterday,’ Ignis says. It rings unconditionally patient, thoughtful, kind; something aches in the gaps between Prompto’s ribs to hear it. ‘Thank you, again, for even wanting to come by to begin with. It’s honestly very touching that you thought of me.’

‘Well, I’m just really glad you liked the pasta.’ Heat blooms underneath Prompto’s jaw, and trickles over the tips of his ears. ‘It was worth it, and I mean that. For all I know, there’s probably another ridiculous headline attached to our picture today and I’m likely gonna get the supreme joy of having to listen to my parents lose their minds over it later, but hey. Like I said: worth it.’

Golden daylight touches the edges of Ignis’ gradual smile, mellow and lovely and unburdened. ‘It’s Sunday today, remember? No paper deliveries. We won’t have to worry about any outrageous headlines or out-of-context photographs for at least another day.’

If he’d been hoping to help put Prompto’s anxieties to rest with that reassurance, it works like a charm. Prompto eyeballs him for a moment, then, heartbeats picking up speed before he knows it.

‘Hey … Iggy?’ He clears his throat, and tentatively reaches across to where his phone’s sitting next to the pillow. ‘Is it okay if I take a selfie? Of us?’

Ignis pauses, a curious expression forming around the fragment of waffle that he’s only just brought up to his lips.

‘Of course,’ he says after a while, setting the food back down for now.

So Prompto scoots in even closer, making sure not to disturb the tray, until their bodies actually overlap to the point where he’s more or less comfortably leaning back against Ignis’ shoulder and arm. Ignis shifts that arm further over; curls a slender palm around the jut of Prompto's hip.

Bed-rumpled, hair in unruly disarray, and the coeurl-print pajamas that Prompto had borrowed from Ignis for the night are wrinkled at the seams from having been slept in – but the shot that he takes of the two of them shows off their faces as nothing less than merry and bright.

A picture of serene happiness.

Ignis leans over Prompto’s shoulder as he takes an intrigued look, tilting close enough for the heat of his breath to swirl across the cut of Prompto’s jaw. ‘You could give all those reporters a run for their money. That’s the best shot of us yet.’

‘We look real good, huh,’ Prompto agrees, cheerfulness surging in his chest.

Then again, it isn’t exactly hard to look this good when they’re already in a great mood at such an early hour of the morning. And it’s hard for Prompto not to be in this great of a mood when, really, he’s come to like Ignis so much.

So much.

He quickly posts the picture to a handful of his social media accounts over several platforms at once – accompanied only by the brief, straightforward caption of Never had anyone make me breakfast in bed before! followed by a sun emoji – before planting his phone down onto the empty nightstand, and then wriggling himself away just enough to have room to press his cheek sideways into Ignis’ shoulder. For some reason, laying his head on Noctis’ shoulder while they’d watched movies the previous day hadn’t felt remotely similar to this, and even though it mightn’t be so easy to put his finger on the reason for it right in this very second, he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t have his suspicions by now.

The warm fingers still wrapped over Prompto’s hipbone lightly squeeze.

Tranquil, content, perfect in every way; he almost can’t believe that he isn’t dreaming any of this.

Fuck, he seriously likes Ignis so much.

 … And there it is. The answer, plain as day.

Those newspaper articles are definitely onto something, after all.

THE SPICE IS RIGHT

He can’t look away from it. And it’s not like he’s being dramatic, either – not when the words have been typed in an obnoxiously huge capitalized font and stretched out across the whole width of the front page like a giant smack in the face.

‘I mean, shit,’ Noctis says from Prompto’s left, dark eyebrows shooting up high. He gives Prompto a fascinated, impressed stare, slurping the last of his milkshake loudly through his straw. ‘You guys got seriously cozy in these pics, huh.’

Prompto sighs, and doesn’t even try to explain himself.

Because that headline’s accompanied by the subheadline of Royal Retinue Romance Hits Jackpot With Steamy Overnight Stay, as well as not one, not two, but three photos in total which have all been put together side-by-side. First, Ignis with his arm folded around Prompto’s shoulders as he’d stood with him on the pavement two days back, eyes fiercely protective and glaring in a far-off direction; then, a goodbye hug that they’d shared on the same footpath not too long after their breakfast in bed the next morning, with Prompto tucked in close to all of Ignis’ nooks and corners, all heavy-lidded and comfortable; and lastly, the selfie that Prompto had taken, which had most likely been directly lifted from his blog.

Scratch that – it’d definitely been directly lifted from his blog, because said blog’s skyrocketed by an additional two thousand followers while still furiously climbing by the minute, and the local paper deliveries had only just been a little over an hour ago. So unless there’d been some other web-based news outlet reporting it that Prompto doesn’t know about, then someone had probably shared the article online.

Which makes sense, especially considering the bold-faced claim in it of how lewd and passionate Prompto’s overnight stay must’ve been; in all seriousness, there’d been nothing spicier that evening than the globs of hot sauce that Prompto had shamelessly poured into his own serving of the pasta, but at this point, he can’t really blame the tabloids for coming to that conclusion.

‘Noct, please don’t start,’ Ignis groans from across Prompto in the café booth, sounding just about as drained as if he’s ready to lie down and not get up again for the rest of his life. But then the waitress swings by, setting his order of iced Ebony on the table, and his face unclenches and loosens like the drink’s already taken a load off his shoulders before he’s even touched it. ‘Ah, finally. My stress relief.’

‘Sounds like I could use some of that.’

‘You’re more than welcome to it,’ says Ignis obligingly, sliding the tall glass over to the center of the table in generous invitation.

For a moment, Prompto stares at the glass in surprise.

Even now, seeing Ignis share himself in little and trivial ways, piece by piece, still sends his pulse racing.

‘Yeah … why not,’ he says after a while, bright and accepting.

He pulls the straw out from his own iced chocolate, shakes the end a little to drip the excess milk off, and plunks it into Ignis’ drink as if it’s practically his own; Ignis doesn’t seem to mind, though, watching patiently while Prompto takes a small sip.

And the moment the liquid hits his tongue, Prompto’s eyes go wide.

‘… I don’t drink coffee all that much, but hey,’ he says, a warm smile pushing up against his cheekbones. ‘This isn’t too bad.’

‘One of the many reasons why this is my regular order,’ Ignis answers with just as much satisfaction. ‘I’m happy to share, that being said.’

So Prompto leans in, even though Ignis is leaning in too. Because it isn’t like Prompto’s the type to have any issues getting up close and personal with anyone he’s gotten reasonably familiar with; but hell, he’s more or less starting to accept the fact that he likes Ignis for sure – as in, in that way – and the heat swimming up his throat’s only managing to remind him of it relentlessly enough that it’s hard to think about anything else now. Then again, there’s nothing about this that’s hinting at crossing into more-than-friendship territory anyway. Two buddies can definitely lean in this close and drink the same drink from the same glass using two different straws at the same time, and that’s a normal, platonic thing pals often do, right?

He doesn’t get time to process that thought any more than that, though, because a deep voice next to them suddenly rumbles, ‘Yo. How come—’

It’s almost unbelievable, sometimes, how a big guy like Gladiolus can somehow manage to sneak up on Prompto without him realizing. But here he is, standing next to their table all of a sudden like he’d just appeared out of thin air, eyes already bulging out of its sockets by the time Prompto’s pulled away from Ignis’ drink to look up at him.

Gladiolus turns a dumbfounded look over to Noctis, his jaw slack. ‘Do these guys usually drink like this?’

‘Who knows. Probably,’ Noctis sniffs, pumping his shoulders up in a bland shrug.

‘So you’re, like, actually dating.’ Gladiolus spins back to Prompto and Ignis in obvious awe, a mixture of acceptance and amazement coloring his voice. ‘Astrals, no wonder you guys always look like boyfriends these days. You’ve literally never looked more like boyfriends than you do right now, too.’

‘Gladio, that’s—’ Ignis starts, tension leaking into the line of his mouth like he’s fighting with himself. After a moment, though, he seems to give up, worn and dismayed. ‘You know what, I’m not even going to bother. Look, just sit down, please.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Gladiolus says, seeming to snap back into a sensible, serious mood. ‘We shouldn’t have picked your usual café to come hang out in. Saw two reporters with camera guys crawlin’ around in the side streets before I came in, and I’m willing to bet that it won’t take them long to get here. More news outlets must’ve identified the place, finally.’ He licks his lips, then, and sharply gestures for them all to get up. ‘If you don’t wanna get ambushed, you can’t come back here.’

It’s almost like he’s just said the magic words.

Because he’s barely even done talking when a woman slinks by the big glass windows, microphone in hand – followed closely by a photographer and some guy holding a video camera that’s so big and bulky that it’s maybe more than a little intimidating to look at. Then another reporter pops up, gawking in without shame. Another videographer. Another photographer.

Noise and movement drop away from Prompto’s surroundings as if they’ve all just had a thick blanket tossed over them, and in that razor-edged silence, the rigid eye contact that’s piercing both ways through the window glass coils tight like a spring. Dead still.

‘… We should go,’ Ignis says through gritted teeth, barbed and cautious.

Noctis sucks in a taut breath; Prompto clenches his jaw and nods.

They slowly, calmly push themselves up from their seats, and start to leave.

But the small mob doesn’t even hesitate to make an instant beeline across to the café entrance to intercept them – and before they can really do anything to stop it, the glass door’s sliding open and they’re washed in cold air, vivid sunlight, and a wild flurry of noise from the two reporters and their camera crews all in one fell swoop.

‘—Mr. Scientia? Mr. Scientia! I’m from the Insomnia Daily, would you like to make a statement—’

‘Mr. Argentum, you and Mr. Scientia have gained something of a decent cult following online, do you have anything to comment on—’

Several bursts of camera flashes come fierce, knifelike, blinding; too intense and definitely way too close for comfort. Prompto groans and blinks, flinging an arm across his eyes to shield them.

Out of the blue, a sea of fabric cloaks his head without any warning, and Prompto’s unexpectedly doused in a soft wave of Ignis’ recognizable scent – even in all the mayhem, he’s able to register that Ignis must’ve thrown his jacket over him to give him cover. An abrupt and surprising gesture, but still, Prompto can barely keep his own chest from welling gratefully at the realization.

‘—Your Highness, do you and your father normally sanction these kinds of relationships in the Royal Court? It’s understood that Mr. Argentum does have Crownsguard duties to you, so his connection to both you and Mr. Scientia can actually be described as professional in nature despite his friendship with you—’

A steady arm loops around Prompto’s waist, pulls him in tight. Keep on walking, he quietly tells himself; stopping their brisk pace would be a terrible idea at this point, and he knows it.

‘… Mr. Scientia, you’ve known Mr. Argentum for years. Reports from The Insomnia Herald say that you could’ve been in an intimate relationship with him all this time without the public’s knowledge—’

‘—I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.’ Ignis’ voice is iron-hard, but Prompto finds it familiarly soothing, in spite of that. ‘No comment. And no pictures, please. You’re bringing him unneeded distress.’

‘Look!’ Noctis yells suddenly, loud and shocked. ‘What the hell is that?!’

Prompto peeks out from under the jacket; sees a long arm outstretched and Noctis’ stiff finger pointed in the direction of the distant sky. A sudden pause of surprise stops the crowd in its tracks, and multiple heads swivel around to look up, puzzled.

‘Holy shit.’ There’s double the emphasis in the added comment, with Noctis’ dark eyes blown wide and astonished. ‘Does everyone see that?’

Hopelessly confused, Prompto slopes his head back to look up too, but from what he can see, there’s nothing really out of the ordinary – which is even more confusing, at this point.

‘… You dumbass,’ Noctis hisses, shaking Prompto’s arm to snap him out of it, before flapping his hand in a shooing motion, his intention loud and clear. ‘Go!’

Gladiolus sidesteps with determination and puffs himself up, then, big and imposing, in an obvious attempt to have his own mass and bulk block any more snapshots from being taken – and without a second thought, Prompto pulls away from Ignis enough to scrabble to take hold of his fingers; the muscles of their legs heave into a run, and the two of them hightail it the hell out of there.

Adolescent Stress Or Existential Crisis: Is Crown Prince Noctis Losing It?

Noctis scrunches his eyebrows, tosses the newspaper onto his desk in explicit distaste.

‘I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years overnight,’ he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and clattering his chair a good distance back, before stretching his legs out to plant fully shod feet right onto the tabletop. ‘You guys owe me.’

‘Sure, but that doesn’t exempt you from such abominable manners. Who taught you to put your feet up like this.’ Ignis reaches over, then, nudging insistently at Noctis’ ankle with his fingers until Noctis finally relents with a crabby grumble, allowing his feet to drop back onto the floor. ‘I beg you to maintain some semblance of professionalism even in your own office, please.’

‘I can’t believe your dumb distraction strategy actually worked,’ Prompto cuts in, knowingly tactless but still brimming with genuine gratitude. ‘Respect, man.’

‘Excuse you. You don’t get to call anything I do dumb when you also literally fell for it.’ The squinting glare Noctis throws him loses steam within seconds, though. ‘… Well, okay. It is kinda dumb, but hell, what are friends for, right.’

Prompto can only grin at that, sunny and festive. ‘You’re the best, dude.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Now get outta here,’ Noctis monotones, eyeing Prompto and Ignis in blunt but good-natured dismissal. ‘And I mean both of you. Go home. Go have dinner. Go on a date, or whatever you guys wanna call it. Go take a break from all this.’

‘Noct,’ Ignis warns, face crumpling up at the edges with exasperation.

No sooner had Ignis said the name than Noctis swivels his office chair around to face the back wall in a totally not juvenile way, though, almost as if to make the point that there’s no argument to be had. And that’s the end of that.

A stroll to absorb the fresh afternoon air maybe would’ve been nice, Prompto thinks, had Ignis not warned against it earlier that day with the advice that traveling anywhere by car would be more ideal until the media attention dies down at least to some extent. And getting to spend more time on private drives with Ignis generally sounds perfect, really, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s currently leaving Prompto somewhat restless – most likely from a combination of being restricted to a confined mode of travel as his only choice, as well as being in close proximity with the one person that he’s literally coming to crush on so helplessly that even being around Ignis seems to be enough to bring out his inner natural disaster, these days – to the point where as soon as Ignis has to make a brief stop to fill up on gas while they’re on their way to Prompto’s house, Prompto actually exits the car too, sprung by the pressing urge to stretch his legs and clear his head a little.

‘… I suppose I’m just concerned about how this latest debacle may affect the engagement plans, as well as the press coverage surrounding it,’ Ignis says, idly nibbling at his lower lip. ‘Stress is the last thing that Noct should be subjected to right now.’

‘Totally get you, but you can’t deny that Noct was also being just a little bit melodramatic back there.’ Prompto raises a single eyebrow; leans one cocked hip sideways against the car door. ‘Hey, it’s gonna be alright! This isn’t like, his first time on the news or anything, yeah? It’s nothing he can’t get through, no matter how ridiculous the news reports might be.’

It’s a valid worry, of course, considering how they’ve finally made it onto online news outlets in video format too now, which is kind of to be expected after their encounter with the videographers at the café. And while both the video in the online article and the photograph in the physical newspaper article had showed visual proof of Prompto and Ignis scurrying away to flee the scene, poor Noctis had taken the brunt of the media circus this time around, for painfully obvious reasons.

The tension all over Ignis’ face starts to gradually melt away in reply, leaving behind the tiniest smile.

‘Would that I had your shining optimism when it comes to everything,’ he murmurs, each syllable ringing warm and kind. ‘Yes, you’re right. Despite my constant anxieties, I do know he’s a big boy.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Prompto flashes him a vibrant grin. ‘You know, I think—’

‘—Holy shit, I think that’s them,’ a bubbly voice hisses nearby.

Both of them turn around, caught off-guard by the interruption. And standing by the car that’s just pulled up behind theirs are two random young women that Prompto’s sure they’ve never met before, half-gaping and staring nearly bug-eyed without even bothering to hide it.

‘See! I told you!’ one of them cheers, thrilled and upbeat. She suddenly hurries forward like she can barely contain herself, excitement beaming and ready to burst. ‘Hey, we’re big fans! Oh my god, can we grab a selfie with you guys?!’

Well – if anything, that’s new. Prompto turns to exchange a surprised look with Ignis, taken somewhat aback.

The other young woman rolls her eyes, shuffles in closer with a half-embarrassed smile hanging at her lips, obviously more chill and laid-back than her companion. ‘… Yeah, uh. What she’s trying to say under all that mouth froth is that we’ve been following all the articles – y’know, not to be weird or anything – but for real, it’s ‘cause you guys always look so open and honest together, like?’ The two of them eye each other deliberately for a moment, before trailing their gazes back over to Prompto and Ignis again. ‘Seriously, though, we love it! Especially ‘cause you’re like us, if you know what I mean.’

Realization dawns on Prompto like a crashing tide.

At the end of the day, he and Ignis do have an audience and a public presence now, whether they like it or not. Spectators made up of regular, everyday people who not only relate to them, and are just like them, but see them from other angles, too – probably in ways that the two of them don’t ever fully see themselves.

After all, it’s rare for real photos to lie. And with how he and Ignis have been shown to look at each other in those articles, and how hard it is for Prompto’s mind to not keep wandering to Ignis nonstop nowadays, maybe they were always going to end up here from the very start.

‘… So, um. Would it be alright if we took a picture with you?’ The young woman continues in a meek, sheepish echo of her partner. ‘If you guys are cool with it, of course.’

Ignis’ glance back at Prompto when Prompto looks over at him is soft, lenient, approving; more or less exactly how Prompto’s feeling about it right now.

‘Yeah, no sweat,’ Prompto answers, friendly and cheerful as ever. ‘Okay, so, were you wanting Iggy and I to stand on either side of you two, or?’

‘… It’s hard to make a mess of stew,’ Ignis says with sensible amusement, bringing the wooden spoon up to his lips for a taste. ‘This tastes marvelous. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘Easy for you to say. You don’t just have Ignis Scientia come over to your place and not cook something that’s to his standard, okay?’

‘Well then, Prompto, you may consider me suitably impressed. Because I certainly am,’ he answers, earnest and encouraging. He then replaces the sturdy lid on the pot, peering at Prompto meaningfully. ‘Shall we let this cool for a bit?’

Prompto can’t help but offer him a lopsided grin. ‘I assume that means that you’re actually staying, and not just sticking around to help me cook?’

‘Oh.’ Ignis lowers his eyelids halfway, studies Prompto through his lashes with interest. ‘For dinner? Or for the night?’

The question catches Prompto unexpectedly in a stunned pause, but after a moment, a sparkle of merry laughter erupts from his chest.

‘Damn. You’re good,’ he says, pointing at Ignis with a single finger-gun that he’s willing to admit is all kinds of silly, but is still managing to get Ignis smiling anyway. ‘Look, I’m gonna be pretty sad if I don’t get a turn to spoil you with breakfast in bed too. So how’d you feel about maybe getting to squeeze yourself into some spare pajamas I have that are potentially too short for you, and putting up with my lame ass as company for the rest of the night?’

‘I’d be honored,’ Ignis throws out with hardly a breath’s space in between, like he doesn’t even have to think twice about it. ‘And hush, now, you’re anything but lame. Although if you persist in claiming that you are, then I’d be more than happy to go ahead and be lame with you so you aren’t alone.’

‘You’re really somethin’, Iggy.’

The two of them have left the kitchen and are settled comfortably on the couch before long, bundled cozily against each other with a single fleece blanket draped over their legs, when Ignis suddenly says: ‘I’ve been getting quite a lot of calls at the office recently. Asking for us.’

‘Oh?’ Prompto replies, retrieving his camera from where it’s perched on the coffee table in front of him. He then idly rests a wrist on Ignis’ thigh while propping the camera up between their laps – a decent angle for Ignis to also be able to see – and with a languid yawn, he starts to scroll through the photos in laid-back leisure.

‘People wanting us for exclusive interviews. Magazine photoshoots. Even ad campaigns, of all things. I simply told them all that we were too busy.’ Ignis shuffles closer, his body heat trickling into Prompto’s open pores as their arms and legs nestle together, before he leans in in an attempt to get a better view of the pictures; soon enough, Prompto can feel his entire face warming beyond his control. ‘Ah. I take it there were a lot of couples in the city today?’

That seizes Prompto in his tracks.

It hadn’t occurred to him until Ignis had mentioned it just now, but in hindsight, he’d definitely taken a lot of pictures of random couples earlier that day, for sure. And they’d mostly been the cheesiest-looking ones, too: couples holding hands as they’d stood still, or sharing a kiss on the street, or tangled together on a bench – without realizing it, he must’ve been in the mood to take a certain type of shot when he’d went exploring … or been in a certain type of mood in general.

Suddenly, he’s even more hyper-aware of how close in proximity he and Ignis are right now.

‘Mmm. I guess so.’ A little cough to curb the prickle in his nerve endings, and Prompto tensely clears his throat. The niggling insecurity of being thought of as loose and lackadaisical comes back to him, uneasy and intrusive, and he clamps firm teeth around it in reflex. ‘I tend to just … carelessly snap whatever looks interesting to me, I suppose?’

‘Not careless. Carefree.’ Work-callused knuckles graze reassuringly against the back of Prompto’s wrist; if Prompto were any more heat-flushed, he’s sure he’d start to burn up with an actual fever. ‘You may not feel as though there’s a difference, but I can assure you that I certainly see it.’

A small, feather-light touch, but also a pretty hefty consolation either way. It tugs at Prompto’s belly in no time, stirring up an irresistible craving for more, so even with the eager longing quivering in the muscles of his hand, he patiently reaches down and across inch by inch – and Ignis’ palm opens up for him in an instant like a flower-bloom, like unspoken acceptance, like a heartfelt welcome that’s only serving to leave Prompto breathless, at this rate. Out of pure impulse, he slowly slides his hand into Ignis’; twines the length of their arms together; carefully meshes and interlocks their fingers. A seamless fit.

Ignis squeezes his hand gently in response, and it’s honestly a miracle that Prompto doesn’t straight-up die right then and there with the way his heart’s thundering in his ribcage.

‘… Well, I daresay this is the most comfortable I’ve felt in a while. I wonder if your couch is to blame?’ Ignis murmurs, with a honeyed, teasing note to his voice. ‘In all seriousness, though, I suspect I won’t have any trouble getting to sleep later.’

‘C’mon. As if I’d actually banish you to the couch,’ Prompto tenderly insists, wriggling in even closer to edge his way into Ignis’ open, inviting crevices, and boldly tucking his face into the junction of Ignis’ neck and shoulder. ‘Just share my bed with me, dude. There’s plenty of room. And it’ll be good practice for our road trip with Noct and Gladio, when it happens.’

Although the notion of sharing a bed with Ignis being good practice for anything at all is making every inch of him burn a lot warmer, but he bites down on that distraction as best as he’s able to, mentally batting it away.

That thought won’t be likely to lead anywhere that isn’t perilous, after all.

He probably should’ve figured, however, that things would actually reach a startling peak and come to fruition even without good practices or distracting thoughts or whatever, seeing as having the hots for Ignis is arguably already a perilous thing in itself. Like teetering on the brink of a precipice.

And all it’s taken to tumble off the edge and plummet to his doom is Ignis voluntarily filling in as his temporary training partner for the day, due to Noctis’ absence – a substitution that does tend to happen occasionally anyway, considering how often sudden urgent duties tend to pop up in Noctis’ schedule. Except this time, Prompto can tell that something isn’t the same.

‘—Are you hurt?’

The question clearly catches Ignis off-guard, because he pauses right in the middle of their spar. Wincing, he gingerly hauls himself upright, wiping a beadlet of sweat from his forehead.

‘… I hadn’t expected you to notice. I thought I’d kept it well under wraps,’ he says after a while, without any condescending jab underlying the words. ‘It’s truly impressive how much your observation has improved. I’d say you’re more or less ready for the trip ahead – it seems as though you’re certainly primed to fulfil your Crownsguard duties at your best.’

Hearing that, a wave of gratification and pride balloons giddily in Prompto’s chest; that is, until it actually occurs to him what Ignis is doing, and he has to hold back the elation pretty much straight away.

‘Hey, c’mon now, Iggy. Don’t try to distract me,’ he answers with a frown, brows knitting together. ‘What happened? You doin’ okay?’

It’d hardly been that much of a difference – a slight hitch in Ignis’ speed, a faint lurch to Ignis’ balance – not enough to be too obvious, but still enough for Prompto to have noticed anyway. And in all honesty, getting confirmation directly from Ignis himself that he’s somewhat well-versed and intimately familiar with Ignis’ movements is kind of surreal, and more than a bit incredible.

‘I’m alright. I believe that one of the cameramen slammed into me by accident as he was scrambling for a quick close-up of you back at the café. It was right before I ushered you away.’ Which does check out, now that Prompto’s thinking back to it; he’d been briefly blinded by a point-blank photographic flash and draped in Ignis’ jacket just before Ignis had wound an arm around him to lead him off, so anything could’ve happened in that time without him noticing. ‘It’s hardly a real injury – just a nuisance, since I hadn’t expected the collision, and thus hadn’t braced for impact. So the muscles in question are still a little sore. Those bulky video cameras are no joke.’

Prompto furrows his brow, curls his mouth in concern. ‘Would you let me have a look at it?’

The gradual, barely-there tint of pink smearing the line of Ignis’ jaw in reply is a bit of a surprise to see, until it starts to dawn on Prompto that there’s a chance that Ignis could actually be mindful and alert about that sort of thing. But before he can so much as open his mouth again to say anything else, the soft green of Ignis’ eyes set firm and sure as if he’s throwing all caution to the wind, and he blurts out: ‘Yes. Alright.’

Which is enough to get them ambling out of the Citadel training hall and down the corridor to the training area’s small infirmary in no time; the tragic thing is, it’s only once they’ve both swept inside the room and closed the door that it occurs to Prompto that he’d practically sprung forward to offer to check Ignis’ injury without even asking where the injury is.

Because the moment Ignis sits on the gurney, he doesn’t waste much time in intently, steadily undoing each individual button of his workout henley t-shirt – every single one, all the way down the extra-long placket to where the slit actually ends in the middle of his torso – before coaxing the open collar down over his shoulder to expose it.

And just like that, Prompto’s mouth goes dry.

It isn’t even the fact that he’s seeing naked skin, truth be told. All in all, it’s definitely more to do with Ignis readily showing it to him; that undeniable vulnerability of Ignis opening up to him, deliberate and willing, in a way that Prompto hasn’t seen him do with anyone else before. And the fact that the infirmary is currently unmanned isn’t helping in the least, because the only thing Prompto can think about at the moment is how they’re currently alone in this minuscule room, and he somehow has to examine and touch Ignis now without hyperventilating.

Okay, so maybe it has just a little to do with the naked skin.

‘It’s mostly this area that got struck,’ Ignis explains, tracing a delicate line with his fingertip from the peak of his bare shoulder to the plane behind. ‘Along the ridge to roughly here, at my shoulder blade or thereabouts. The inconvenient placement is truly the icing on the cake, really.’

‘Alrighty. Let me see.’ Closing all the distance left between them in two strides, Prompto tilts his head sideways to look around at the back of Ignis’ shoulder as Ignis pivots in place to allow him proper access; the initial cursory glance is enough as it is for him to be able to see the rippling after-traces of dark purple splotched across pale skin, half-faded and dulled but still a long way from gone. ‘Oh, yeah. Sheesh. At least it looks like it’s getting better.’

A tentative hand wraps around Ignis’ upper arm, cautiously but snugly, to brace it still from the front – and Prompto reaches up with his other hand, using a single knuckle to graze the mottled bruising in inspection. The slight stickiness of cooling sweat at the surface of the skin hasn’t dwindled away since their spar only a few minutes ago, and Prompto can only swallow to keep himself in check when that enticing warmth starts to twist like smoke through the gaps between his fingers.

Ignis turns to eye him directly with full lashes hanging low, and all at once, their faces are suddenly too close.

‘I suppose I’m rather resilient.’

‘Yeah, doesn’t really look like you’ll need ointment or anything. Just gotta let time run its course, I guess. You’re one ballsy guy, huh? Getting a battle wound like this just ‘cause of me.’ The hand on Ignis’ upper back skates up and over the line of the shoulder, squeezes at the rigid bone in both apology and support.

Prompto hadn’t exactly been intending to hint at anything with the sentiment, but either way, Ignis’ answer is clear: lifting the same arm that’s in Prompto’s grip and carefully sliding his hand upward to meet Prompto’s, the subtle motion rolling each thin layer of shoulder muscle sleekly underneath Prompto’s palm. He nudges his fingers into the spaces between Prompto’s, then, lacing them together without any hurry – and despite the fact that intertwining fingers are hardly a new concept at all for them now, Prompto can almost feel his own blood-beats speeding up and his own brain short-circuiting as a result.

‘… And I’d do it again. Ten times over.’

‘—Iggy,’ exits Prompto’s mouth spontaneously and out of the blue, before he can even think to stop himself; a pleasant shiver of anticipation runs along the line of his backbone beyond his control. ‘Iggy … please tell me I’m not misreading this.’

That, if anything, gets a starker reaction.

Ignis’ pupils visibly darken, his jaw clenching in attention. He lightly springs off the gurney until he’s on his feet again, which inadvertently slips his collar back into place, and the abrupt increase in their height difference yanks Prompto’s hand off Ignis’ shoulder at last, although their fingers are still tangled into each other’s on account of neither of them letting go.

They’re close. Standing so close that they’re almost flush together; Prompto slants his head back, looking up at Ignis with overwhelming wonder, and is sedately given a heavy, dusky gaze in return.

‘No,’ Ignis says, the lone syllable scraping out hoarse. ‘You aren’t.’

Shifting to curl his grasp more around Prompto’s knuckles and raising their connected palms up to his mouth, Ignis takes his time pressing parted lips to the inside of Prompto’s wrist with sensuous ease – fuck, fuck, this is actually happening – and there’s maybe just as much knowing and purpose to the way he edges back a little afterward, running his tongue across his own upper lip to wet it. And god, seeing it, there’s no way that Prompto can deny that all he wants right now is for Ignis to kiss him.

Miraculously, he doesn’t have to wait.

Because Ignis then tugs on their joined hands, pulling Prompto in, and just like that, Prompto gets his wish.

It crosses Prompto’s mind, hazy and smoldering as it is, that this is basically how every cheap, bad medical porno starts – but he’s beyond caring at this point. The kiss comes as an epiphany: there’s a part of him that’d almost expected Ignis to kiss with the dignity and poise of a nobleman, or a business executive, or a socialite, graceful and refined. But there’s no restraint in this. Slick, messy, spine-tingling, as firm and impatient as if Ignis wouldn’t ever dream of letting go of Prompto again, and that’s all it takes for every last rational thought to fly out of Prompto’s head entirely.

Slotted mouths slide and snag, thin exhales stumbling over each other’s teeth and damp tongues gliding together like puzzle pieces that match, eager and consuming, sloppy and scorching and better than just about anything that Prompto’s ever felt. He can nearly taste the yearning in it as if they’ve both been starved for way too long; gives himself over to the delving and licking and panting with an inviting tilt of his head until it leaves him dizzy, until he’s on the verge of breathless, until he can only grope at Ignis’ upper arms for support.

‘—Is this okay?’ Ignis murmurs against his lips, fingertips trailing right down against the sharp angle of Prompto’s pelvis, thumb circling over Prompto’s inner thigh in request.

The fact that Ignis even has to ask is unbelievable, especially when Prompto would love nothing more right now than to be wrecked within an inch of his life and it’s obvious that Ignis himself has certain priorities in order, clearly throwing all inhibitions out the window without so much as a trace of his usual sensible reason – including any worry over the risk of someone actually walking in. But witnessing the very proof of control slipping from Ignis’ fingers because of him has Prompto instantly reeling, and before he knows it, Ignis’ nails are digging into his bones and they’re both whirled around until Prompto’s back hits the gurney and he’s propped up against it with Ignis crowding him in.

‘Fuck,’ Prompto manages to rasp into Ignis’ mouth, nearly trembling with the surge of want flaring between his hips, what with Ignis’ thumb still dragging across his thigh. It’s a silk-light touch and barely anything at all, really, but it’s Ignis and it feels like it’s been such a long time coming that the contact alone burns at his nerve endings, fierce and aching. ‘It’s more than okay.’

So Ignis pulls their bodies flush together, and – shit, he’s hard. They’re both hard, and even the first frenzied graze of rigid cock against rigid cock through layers of fabric is electric enough that Prompto seriously has to wonder if he’ll get drunk on this, on the irrepressible fire jolting up his spine, on Ignis as a whole.

The sight of Ignis’ lips as he breaks away, lush and rosy and full, has Prompto unable to help himself from leaning forward to plant one last kiss to them, restless with craving.

‘—We’re probably violating so many health regulations in here, huh,’ he breathes, teeth clamping taut as they both eagerly reach into the hair-thin space between them to palm each other through their workout pants in small filthy caresses, and there’s less of a solid weight in the current stroke of Ignis’ fingers than in the previous brief skim of Ignis’ firm length against his own, but Prompto pushes into Ignis’ hand with gusto either way – chasing down the delectable friction, relishing in the exquisite heat.

‘Aren’t you thoughtful.’ Ignis’ mouth tilts on one side with a tiny crooked grin, and there’s a little scrunch to his nose that’s a hell of a lot more spicy than he probably even realizes: a sultry view that has Prompto increasingly aware of the needy answering twitch of his own cock and the slight bead of wetness smudging inside his briefs. ‘I highly doubt that anyone will be around this late in the afternoon, so I’ll have plenty of time to clean up. Go ahead. As hard and dirty as you please.’

God. It’s impossible for the sentiment not to drive Prompto a little bit wild, not when he’s never heard Ignis talk like that in his life and not when it’s simultaneously three shades of enticing, offering and commanding all at once.

He tugs at the material of Ignis’ waistband with a level of urgency that essentially renders his request as just shy of begging, but either way, Ignis complies, hooking a thumb into his sweatpants and underwear to work them down with a little deft maneuvering and seemingly relative ease; there’s a lot less nimble grace in the way Prompto wriggles out of his own pants after that, though, hips jutting up while scrabbling fingers yank at cotton and folds of fabric sink and pool around his knees. And holy hell, the touch of bare skin against skin when they finally properly press together is so damn good that Prompto’s more or less about to lose his mind from it, because Ignis’ cock is big and fever-hot to the point where it has Prompto’s throat letting out a sharp, pleading whine.

The corners of Ignis’ lips coil upward even more like the noise is music to his ears, a mildly surprised look of triumph that’s so vivid and gorgeous on him that it’s bordering on unfair.

They slot seamlessly, satisfyingly into each other without the fabric between them either way, the little slick warmth of precome smearing in the firm, fitted line of their shafts and Ignis’ body curving sinuously with every keen grind of their hips together, greedy and indulgent enough that Prompto nearly sees stars. A quick dazed glance at their surroundings doesn’t reveal anything that they’d be able to use right now to take it further than this, really – just sleek cabinets, clinical counters, sterile equipment like masks and swabs – but he’ll be damned if they don’t make the best of the situation anyway, especially when it already feels this incredible as it is.

Fingertips skim upward, loosely bent knuckles twisting hungrily into Ignis’ hair, and its wisps tousle in careless disarray while still managing to leave Ignis painfully handsome in every way: a sunny reminder of how rumpled and charming he’d looked when he’d woken up next to Prompto in the morning, that time when he’d stayed overnight at Prompto’s house and shared Prompto’s bed with him.

The vague thought of getting to see more of that in the wake of nights potentially involving more of this stirs up a lick of flame in the pit of Prompto’s belly, and he leans forward, soft lips and tongue branding an unsaid thrill into the tender space right below Ignis’ ear and gentle teeth nibbling experimentally at the delicate lobe; the earthy scent of Ignis’ skin hangs heady with post-training sweat, so raw and tantalizing that it has Prompto’s mouth watering, and the shaky groan that rumbles out of Ignis’ throat when Prompto lightly nips at his sensitive pulse point echoes all the way down to the base of Prompto’s spine, making his bones shiver, making his thighs clench.

‘God, Prompto,’ Ignis all but hisses, plunging his nails into the lean muscle of Prompto’s lower back with no shortage of tense enthusiasm. ‘How did we never—’

‘—Yeah, I know,’ Prompto agrees, breathless. And he’s barely managed to slide his free hand discreetly underneath Ignis’ shirt to pull callused fingertips over Ignis’ ribs in admiring appreciation when Ignis grapples his own fingers behind Prompto’s thigh and yanks, heaving him in even closer, even tighter.

At which point Prompto sucks in a broken inhale and opens up immediately, body slackening and unfolding as though made for Ignis’ touch alone.

The pressure on his cock is all the more delicious and intense when they’re this snug together; too intense, maybe, because Prompto can feel the taut, winding heat building up between his thighs much faster than he’d have liked. It’s too rushed, too precarious, too soon – he’s already hanging by a thread all while the overwhelming spark and blaze of every inch of skin-to-skin contact has him gasping at Ignis’ jawline, and he can only scrabble to clutch at Ignis’ arms with desperation and literally drag him away a little, panting.

‘… It’s so much, at this rate, I’m seriously gonna—’ he swivels around in place, then, until he’s facing the gurney with Ignis behind him. The constraining fabric around his knees is nothing but a nuisance at this point, so he doesn’t waste time in shimmying the pants down and quickly stepping out of them, before kicking them away across the tiled floor and throwing a fleeting look back over his shoulder to glance at Ignis again. ‘Do you wanna try—’

Ignis doesn’t even question it.

No reservations, no misgivings, no shame; without any pause or preamble, he curls wiry fingers into Prompto’s hipbones and angles forward to press and rub himself into the soft valley between Prompto’s cheeks, maybe somewhat more mindfully now that he’s pretty much rutting into more delicate skin, but definitely no less eager.

Still, something about the lack of hesitation really is more than stunning. Because either Ignis is that perfectly in tune with Prompto or he’s wracked with urgent impatience, and in any case, it’s exhilarating enough that Prompto would gladly take either option.

A particularly messy stumble in Ignis’ momentum has him withdrawing a little too far back, the tip of his cock catching briefly on the pucker of Prompto’s opening on the upstroke, almost like a whisper of something that Prompto knows he’ll actually get from Ignis in the future – and he outright whimpers at the unintentional tease of it, tilting forward to press his hips hard into the padded mattress of the gurney in an unwitting search for relief. There’s a bold certainty to every glide of the rigid length between his cheeks, though, as full of purpose as if Ignis is spelling out a generous promise that this won’t be any less amazing. And in all honesty, Prompto believes him.

Ignis only has to push Prompto’s cheeks together after that, squeezing his own cock luxuriously between them, and within seconds, Prompto’s entire plan and attempt to calm the hell down flat-out goes up in smoke. He can barely help folding himself downward to dip his upper body lower, spine arching and thighs spreading to allow Ignis better access; a guttural noise scratches itself out from behind Ignis’ teeth as though he could’ve literally nearly come just from the sight.

The very sound of it has Prompto gripping fiercely at the metal railing of the gurney’s midsection to try to steady himself, firm and white-knuckled – his eyes fall shut for a moment, and against the dark backdrop of his closed eyelids he thinks he can almost see the sensuous roll of Ignis’ hips, the shift and heave of the muscles on Ignis’ back, the unspoken relish in every corner of Ignis’ face.

And then lean, decisive fingers are suddenly flitting their way down the plane of Prompto’s stomach to warmly wrap around the base of Prompto’s shaft, and Prompto’s heart almost seizes to a complete stop, his eyes flying open in surprise.

‘… Could you imagine the reporters seeing us now,’ Ignis murmurs wetly into the nape of Prompto’s neck, traces his lips over the bony dip of Prompto’s shoulder, mouths avid fever along the side of Prompto’s throat.

With the sturdy, solid width of Ignis’ chest engulfing Prompto’s back, Prompto can already tell that Ignis must’ve bent over him in order to stay close.

‘Headlines for days,’ Prompto answers in a quivering voice, every ounce of his focus narrowing to the soft cushions and rough calluses of Ignis’ hand encircling him, pumping him, stroking him. It’s taking everything in him not to thrust into the grasp, knowing full well that he’d barely last otherwise; but he grinds back unevenly against Ignis’ cock instead, which has Ignis’ following exhale shuddering in reply, unraveling from his lungs like he’s staggering along the edge of gratification. ‘You’re damn hot, you know. Should have your own double-page spread.’

A single husky wisp of a laugh, as undone as slowly cracking glass. ‘Could definitely say the same about you.’

It’s hard for Prompto not to notice his own crease growing a little slipperier the more Ignis works himself into it, and even harder to ignore the fingers of Ignis’ other hand suddenly skimming up from its secure hold on his hip to sweep over his sweat-dampened skin instead, tracing a luscious path underneath Prompto's shirt all the way down the knobbed line of his backbone. The tender nerves of Prompto’s spine goes into overdrive, then, leaving him delirious with yearning, so he lets himself melt straight into the gesture, pursuing Ignis’ touch inch by inch – slowly rising by curving back into Ignis’ fingers the more they snake further down, to the point where Ignis has to gradually lift himself upright to follow him, too.

Adoration floods Prompto’s veins in a searing wave at even that meager connection, and he twists himself somewhat, turning and tilting his head sideways over his shoulder in a pleading request; Ignis doesn’t even seem to have to think twice about it with how quick his response is, sloping in to press a weighty, lingering kiss to the one side of Prompto’s mouth that he can reach.

It’s enough to have Prompto itching to sink all of himself into Ignis in whatever way he can, to have Ignis sink into him in return, to have all their lines and contours blur until Ignis is the only thing that he can feel anymore. So he moves to take hold of Ignis’ wrists and peel Ignis’ eager hands away for the moment, while pivoting around as much as he’s able to in the tight space between them until they’re face-to-face again – and their noses graze reassuringly together before they’re kissing properly, deep and consuming and full, everything Prompto could possibly ask for and more.

‘… Want you,’ Prompto breathes out between one kiss and the next, pretty much incoherent. Ignis swipes both hands up the backs of Prompto’s thighs and grabs him wholly by the bare cheeks, rash but deft, to hoist him up to be seated on the edge of the gurney; instinct and reflex take over before long, with Prompto wrapping himself around Ignis completely, his arms winding around Ignis’ shoulders and his legs folding around the points of Ignis’ hips like enveloping wings. ‘Need you so bad.’

‘I’ve got you,’ is all Ignis has to murmur, sounding frayed at the seams, for Prompto to hear the I need you too hanging unsaid within it. The kiss breaks with a trembling sigh and Ignis’ fingers gravitating to where they’d been before, finding their way back around Prompto’s cock like he can’t possibly stay away.

Hazily reaching down between them, Prompto curls his fingers around Ignis, too, and starts to stroke.

The living heat of Ignis’ skin is like a furnace when they’re this close – a warmth so bright that Prompto can already thoroughly feel every pinprick of it in every pore, rich and radiant. He slides over Ignis’ cock in taut, sloppy drags, rubs tiny swirls into the sensitive underside with his thumb and basks in how gorgeously obscene Ignis looks when he’s letting loose like this, clearly so keyed up now that he’s rocking shallowly into Prompto’s grip; just seeing it has Prompto canting up his hips to do the same hardly moments later, high-strung and unable to rein it in anymore.

He squeezes Ignis’ hips with his thighs, bracing and anchoring himself on them for traction while he fucks into the narrow circle of Ignis’ fist, and at this rate, he can already tell that there’s really no hope left of keeping it together – not when he’s this blood-hot in Ignis’ palm, not with the way his skin is fluidly rolling back so every thrust into Ignis’ grasp feels somehow longer, sweeter, sexier.

Fumbling for something, anything, to hook himself into, he can only clutch at Ignis’ covered shoulder using his free hand as if attempting to pull the bruising out from underneath the fabric, and even with the last crumbs of his brittle self-control half-latched onto that contact, he can barely think straight between every unrelenting thought of just wanting more, and more.

‘So good. Can't take it,’ Ignis grits out, like he’s on the same page – a thrilling realization that spurs Prompto into nudging his hips in closer, wound up and desperate. Thankfully, Ignis seems to instantly catch on to what he’s thinking; because as soon as Prompto’s hand lets go, Ignis’ does too, giving them space to slip beautifully into each other again, cock pressed flush against cock for the second time.

Like finally coming home.

Except this time, Ignis wraps long fingers around both of them at once, skyrocketing the electrifying friction and pressure all the way up to the point where Prompto’s toes curl and the throb between his thighs aches even more. He’s close, and even when they’re moving together with abandon, rocking in earnest into Ignis’ sound grip, there’s an almost soothing, raw connection to the way they both lean forward at the same time: lashes lowering and foreheads pressing against each other’s, heated but heartfelt.

It’s the only grounding thing when they’re this far gone, with blunt nails raking over skin and thin, panting breaths mingling so Prompto can’t tell whose lungs they’re escaping from, while the coiling tension between his hips rapidly pulls taut, tighter, tighter, a strained wire fiercely stretched—

—And then, with a white-hot burn, the tether snaps.

He comes hard. So hard that it’s almost blinding; so hard that his knees give. His spine curves with the intensity of it, arching back so his upper half breaks away from Ignis even when they’re still pulling together like gravity in the middle – riding the high with so much eager fire that it sends Ignis over the edge straight after, too, wrenching a low, broken groan from the back of his throat that blurs into Prompto’s own fractured gasps like they’ve both just been unraveled past the point of no return.

Every fragment of it is sharp and ruthless even as it starts to dip and fall; even as it’s steadily fading; even when he’s squeezed out every bit of gratification between his thighs and in all his sensitive nerves to the very last drop.

He’s amazingly ruined like he’s never been before, and hell, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Their heartbeats ease down and a mellow quiet sinks around them, mingling into the settling dust, into the ticking of the passing seconds, into the normal and mundane and everyday; with that, the urgent frenzy from before dwindles until all that’s left for them to feel is warm and sticky and sated, Prompto’s limbs loose and heavy, Ignis’ sigh threading through his hair. Prompto takes his time in pulling back, then, but is suddenly yanked right back into cold, hard reality as soon as Ignis’ eyes meet his.

After all, that just now was pretty damn explosive and it isn’t like Prompto’s ever unexpectedly hooked up with a friend before, much less a friend that he’s seriously and genuinely into.

Where in the world would this actually leave them?

‘… Prompto,’ Ignis starts slowly, carefully, like he’s toeing some invisible line between them. ‘Are we—’

‘—I, uh. Okay, I’m just gonna say it before I lose my nerve,’ Prompto babbles all of a sudden, hurtling past the racing pulse in his ears. ‘I really like you, dude, as in, I really really like you in a totally more-than-friends way, and it’s pretty stupid how happy I actually get every time we spend time together because I think about you all the time now and, like, I’d literally be super-keen to take it all further if you happen to also want that since there’s seriously nothing I can think of that I want more than you anyway, so, uh. Do you wanna be my boyfriend? Maybe?’

For a brief but agonizing moment, the only reply that Prompto gets is a streak of stunned silence.

But then – a sliver of quiet, breathy laughter tumbles from Ignis’ mouth, sweet and bright and glimmering like tinkling bells, and it’s probably one of the prettiest things that Prompto’s ever heard.

‘I was just about to ask you the same,’ Ignis says, pearly grin vivid and teeming with earnest joy. ‘So yes. I would very much want that.’

Unbelievable.

Beyond the wild relief that instantly floods him, swallowing up all his bones, Prompto can’t help but let out a slip of cheery laughter in response, too.

Because holy shit, they’re actually officially together now. For real.

Prompto leans in, still beaming from ear to ear when he pulls Ignis into a heartfelt, delighted kiss – and he doesn’t even have to look to know that Ignis is reciprocating it with an over-the-moon elated smile, because he can feel it spreading wide enough against his own mouth to ache either way, and as far as they’re both concerned, there’s really nothing better than this.

‘… Order for iced Ebony and iced chocolate to go?’

A lush, sugary fragrance of miniature cakes and pastries; a rich, earthy scent of sumptuous coffees; low murmurs of serene conversations threaded through the air.

Everything considered, it’s good to be back.

‘Yes, that’s ours, thank you,’ Ignis says, stepping forward to take the cold, dew-flecked cups being held out to him into his hands. He doesn’t dawdle in passing Prompto the iced chocolate before taking a relaxed sip of his own drink, and then sighing in unrestrained pleasure. ‘Good grief, how I’ve missed my iced Ebony. I can’t even begin to express what a relief it is to come back here, even if it’s just for a quick stop.’

‘And even with that mob gathering out there?’ Prompto grins teasingly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the café entrance in pointed indication. ‘You gunning for even more scandalous front-page headlines, or what?’

‘We’ve had our fair share, haven’t we? What’s a couple more, honestly,’ Ignis raises a determined eyebrow as they move off, making their way to leave.

Prompto shakes his head in amusement, shudders out a full-chested laugh. ‘You know this means we’ll definitely have to do that lunch with my parents that they wanted, right? They’ve already told me that they’ll be coming home for a day or two next week to see us before we have to head off, just so you’re aware. And I can tell that they’re not gonna take no for an answer at this rate.’

Ignis flashes him an affectionate smile, and in theory, Prompto hadn’t thought it was possible to grow even fonder of Ignis than he already is. But here he is – with butterflies in his stomach for the nth time and everything.

‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Ignis winks, cheeky and awfully handsome to the point where Prompto feels like a starry-eyed teenager again.

Noise and bustle greet them in a flourishing burst the second they open the door; it isn’t just two reporters this time, but an actual horde – there are way too many gossip reporters here along with their camera crews, practically a riot in contrast to the modest quiet of the alleyway that they’re currently jam-packed inside of. And yet, somehow, there isn’t much panic or urgency bubbling in Prompto’s gut at all in having to face meeting them head-on.

Prompto breathes, bites down on his tongue. Lean hands slot discreetly together in the paper-thin space between his and Ignis’ bodies, fingers hooking into each other and coarse calluses catching: as much a warm, stable anchor right at this moment as it’s always been.

‘… Mr. Argentum, your social media following has grown to unforeseen proportions in the last few days alone,’ a reporter shouts. ‘Would you like to share your comments on—’

‘Mr. Scientia, will you be making a public response to all the recent news coverage surrounding yourself and Mr. Argentum? You both have a significant presence to the Royal Family as the Crown Prince’s advisor and his closest friend respectively, and you’re both occasionally present in news reports focused on Prince Noctis, so to have articles focused on the two of you instead must be—’

‘Neither of you have made a formal statement so far to elaborate on any detail to do with your relationship, so could you address—’

‘A subset of the discussions taking place online have shed some doubt as to whether the two of you are actually in a relationship at all, despite the reports,’ one journalist cuts in much more loudly than the rest, rowdy and insistent. ‘What would you say to that?’

Well, that one’s the question of the year.

Prompto flicks a deliberate look sideways at Ignis, only to find Ignis already swiveling to stare straight back at him, an obvious hint of knowing and anticipation set into the line of his mouth. Ignis’ eyes crease and soften at the edges, then, kindling with just as much tender heat and easygoing calm as Prompto can feel from head to toe right now.

After all, there won’t be any running away today.

‘Well,’ Ignis says, turning back to the reporters. ‘We’re—’

‘… You were holding hands,’ Noctis monotones, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

Prompto twists his head back to peer at him, incredulous. ‘And?’

‘I’m saying that you can’t seriously have expected them all not to go wild from that. You know that holding hands on purpose when you came out the door was probably the reason why most of them got crazy excited to push for details and comments even before you dropped the bomb, right?’ An emphatic shrug, but then Noctis casually licks his lips with some level of blunt satisfaction, too. ‘Well, either way, cat’s outta the bag. Congrats on, y’know, finally being real with yourselves or whatever, even if literally everyone else in the universe already knew it or saw it coming. Guess this means we’ll have to put up with both of you being gross and mushy in public more often now.’

‘Yeah, that announcement was one hell of a ballsy move,’ Gladiolus agrees, lazily stretching his limbs as much as he’s able to in the confines of the Regalia’s back seat. ‘Happy for you, but wouldn’t it mean that there’s gonna be even more news guys following you around from now on?’

In all honesty, Prompto isn’t too sure about that. Maybe not, though. Because after the initial windstorm of news reports and articles that’d followed the two of them going public with their relationship outside the café, the general attention and scrutiny that they’d both been swept up in for weeks surprisingly went and wound itself down almost instantly; Prompto can only suspect that the intrigue and novelty’s probably starting to wear off in the public eye, finally, especially when all the stuff to do with Noctis and Lady Lunafreya and their upcoming wedding is fresher and a lot more exciting as far as the most current news goes.

At least there’d been one last significant article in the local newspaper before today’s road trip departure – a small and modest one on page three that’d been accompanied by a photo of a sweet, laid-back kiss that Prompto had openly shared with Ignis on the street outside his house several days after the news coverage at the café. He’d made sure to cut that one out and pile it together with all the other articles that’d been published before, pasting everything into the little scrapbook that’s currently tucked away in his backpack; probably an over-sentimental thing to do, he can admit that much. But there’s no reason not to bring it along to keep close, as far as he’s concerned.

‘… Well, even if that were the case, it’s nothing that Prompto and I can’t handle,’ Ignis answers smoothly, reaching sideways toward the passenger seat to offer a gentle rub to Prompto’s thigh. ‘We have a job to concentrate on now regardless of what kind of media attention we get in the meantime. I’m not averse to accepting some short interviews if we can spare the leisure time for it, but otherwise, everything that needs to be done in Altissia should be our primary focus from here on out.’

Prompto takes hold of the hand in his lap, idly planting a delicate, butterfly-soft kiss on Ignis’ knuckles before letting go again. ‘Can I have a turn at driving a bit later?’

‘Astrals, they’re already being nauseating,’ Noctis mumbles from behind them, voice deliberately dull and flat.

Ignis pointedly ignores that remark, flashing Prompto a minuscule smile as he draws his hand back and starts the car. ‘We’ll have to see. But I’d say your chances are quite good, at least, because apparently I’m very fond of you, you know. I believe I read about it in the newspaper once.’

Prompto grins, heart swelling full and merry in his chest.

He can barely wait for the road ahead.

‘Right back at you, Iggy.’